


Paradise Burned Down

by grayimperia



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Mystery, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2020-12-24 10:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21098012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayimperia/pseuds/grayimperia
Summary: “It’s never wise to play god, however…” Byleth said, staring out at the new wasteland before them.Jeralt had told her that after every battle, he would listen for the cries of birds. That was when he knew the horror was over. Now, the ashes clung to her boots and cloak and hair, and no matter how much she strained her ears, she could not hear even the faintest birdsong.The eagle’s cry had gone away. “The time for being wise has passed.”-The night Byleth rescues three students, the Flame Emperor appears.





	1. The Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for all routes.

_She placed the last of the Crest Stones in her bag, and it weighed heavy in her hands. The Holy Tomb was thick with dust and the scent of the dead, and she almost regretted that they weren’t the first grave robbers to desecrate the forsaken place._

_“Is that the last of them?” her companion asked._

_“Yes,” she said. “The others are gone.” _

_He opened his own bag to count, and she secured hers inside the larger stolen satchel at her side. She waited for him, and he came away from his counting with a sigh. His steps echoed in the vast room, and he sounded as if he were a voice speaking in her very head when he kneeled beside her. _

_“We will have to make do with what we have.”_

_“No other choice.”_

_She reached out her hands, and he took them without hesitation. He did not question the safety or her ability, either. He said, “No other choice.”_

_And she began it._

-

Edelgard can’t help but drum her fingers on the log she was sitting on. 

The opportunity had been too perfect when she first heard it—bonding for the three house leaders away in the woods with only a new skittish professor, fresh out of the academy, as their guardian. 

Dimitri prods at the fire he constructed with a large stick, while Claude lays flat on his back in the grass and Edelgard taps.

The sense of anticipation in the air is electric, even if Edelgard is the only who can feel it. The fastest, least bloody way to the unification of Fodlan is moments away, and only the raw guilt she had yet to completely grind under her heel tempers the buzzing in her limbs. 

Dimitri is barely containing his beaming at the fire he built all by himself, and Claude is humming some offbeat song she’s never heard. Edelgard bites her lip and taps. 

“It is getting late,” Dimitri says. “I think I will put the fire out for the night.”

“That’s a shame,” Claude says from his spot on the ground. “You spent like an hour building it, and we only used it for twenty minutes of cooking. You were so proud when you got that first spark, too.”

Dimitri coughs into his hand. “Well, yes, but I will take this as a learning experience. Still, my efforts aside, it would be best for us to rest soon.”

“Hey, wait,” Claude leans up on his elbows. “I thought of one more purpose our campfire could serve before you put it out of its misery.” He grins. “That is, if you’re brave enough.”

Dimitri frowns but sets aside his makeshift poker. “Claude, I would prefer to refrain from being involved in any of your schem—”

“Relax, your highness,” Claude says. “No mischief making tonight for me—well, maybe for a few ghosts.”

Dimitri furrows his brow while Claude waggles his. “Do you mean ghost stories? I suppose… that is acceptable.” He nods, crossing his arms. “Alright, very well. Carry on, Claude.”

“Sure thing,” he says, slowly pulling himself to his feet and stretching his back out. “Hey princess, you still with us?”

Edelgard jolts at the sound of her name. “Hmm—were you saying something?”

“Someone’s distracted,” Claude says, settling to sit on the log across from them on the other side of the remains of Dimitri’s campfire. He leans forward just enough to send shadows up and running across his fate. “Or are you already on the look out for bumps in the night?”

Dimitri turns to Edelgard with a genuine look of concern while she rolls her eyes. “Edelgard, if you truly do not wish to participate, there is no need to force your—”

“I’m not afraid of whatever childish story Claude has in mind,” Edelgard replies. “I just thought I heard something off in the distance—that’s all.”

“Ooh, something lurking in the bushes? All the better for setting the mood,” Claude says. “Now I’m also going to make the assumption that you two sticks in the mud don’t have anything good in store, so I’ll start.”

“Actually,” Dimitri says. “Mercedes—one of my housemates—she is rather fond of ghost stories. I doubt I’d be as good a teller as her, but… she did mention one the other day that stuck with me. Apparently it’s been attracting quite a bit of attention lately in the villages around Garreg Mach.”

Claude sweeps a hand towards him. “The floor is yours.”

Dimitri nods and surveys both of them one last time before straightening his shoulders. “I’ll preface with the fact that when I asked Mercedes of the story’s origins, she didn’t know. It just seems to be a word of mouth legend.”

“Ooh, a mysterious tale.”

“But rest assured—I am sure it is a work of complete fiction. It,” he frowns. “It would simply be too bizarre not to be.”

Edelgard doesn’t take her eyes off the woods, looking for a flash of steel and straining her ears for the sounds of crunching boots. “I’m sure it’s very interesting. Start at the beginning will you?”

“That is what I intended,” he says. “Anyway, supposedly—again, I am sure this is a work of fiction—there exists a cult of sorts who lurk in the darkness.”

Claude hums. “Alright, decent start. What horror is our mystery cult up to?”

“They, themselves, are the horror,” Dimitri says. “Their skin is as white as freshly fallen snow, and their eyes vary from beady red to pitch black. And those are the more normal characteristics. Others possess… even more inhuman features—claws, scales, pulsating veins, and bulging eyes.”

“Starting to see why they operate in the shadows. Other than, you know, that kind of being what cults do.”

“I’m afraid you are mistaken, Claude,” Dimitri says. “What makes this group truly frightening is their ability to change form. In the night, they stalk people—well regarded merchants, minor nobles, guards with important sets of keys—and drag them off into the dark to steal their faces.”

Edelgard blinks. “What?”

“Ooh, looks like that caught her interest. Keep going, Dimitri.”

“Uh, yes. What happens is… they strip their targets of their faces and skin, and come morning they walk around in their clothes, having completely replaced them. The victim’s friends and family never realize they’ve been killed and their murderer is among them, until they discover their faceless body in the woods. In other cases, years pass with no one realizing a thing, and when it no longer makes sense to keep the same disguise, they move on, claiming a new victim and once again blending in amongst the people.”

Edelgard frowns. “Where did you say you heard this story again, Dimitri?”

“Mercedes said she heard it from a few villagers, who,” he furrows his brow. “Who, ahem, supposedly knew someone who heard of the appearance of a strange masked individual roaming the woods.”

Claude hums. “Heard it from my friend who heard it in the village market who heard it from travelers in another village—yeah, that sounds about right. Also why would a face stealer wear a mask?”

Edelgard opens her mouth to object, but she hears a slight crack in the distance before she can speak. It’s only because she’s looking for it does she see the bandit’s shadow shifting over the trees behind Claude.

“That’s part of the legend, too,” Dimitri says. “Their leader is a strange masked individual who always comes and goes in clouds of darkness. Given that they haven’t stolen an identity, one can only imagine how truly horrifying their appearance is behind their mask.”

“Okay, creepy-ish,” Claude says. “I’ll give you a four out of ten.”

The bandit takes a step closer, and Dimitri must catch sight of their shadow grazing the edge of the clearing from the way he stiffens.

“Claude,” Dimitri whispers.

“What? Too harsh? Alright, since it was your first time—”

“Behind you!”

Edelgard leaps to her feet at Dimitri’s shout, and Claude lunges to the side just in time for an arrow to go sailing right through where his heart was. 

“What is—” Dimitri starts to say as the bandits take their first steps out of the woods.

“Run!”

Claude becomes a yellow blur, Dimitri scrambles after him, and Edelgard realizes this isn’t going to go as planned.

-

Byleth’s head is spinning, but she knocks the bandit leader to the ground easily enough now that she knows how he’ll charge. The world is slightly blurred at the edges, but her vision reorients itself quickly enough as the bandit scrambles to get his footing again in his retreat, axe now safely on the ground and out of his reach. 

The girl behind her, Edelgard, lets out a sigh as she pockets her ornamental dagger. Byleth is aware of the new flow of time, but she still can’t help but take a moment to scan her for any injuries that slipped her notice. She still feels dizzy, but the slight smile Edelgard gives her with her demure, “Thank you,” is enough to clear any lingering hesitation Byleth had over the use of her strange new power. 

The other two, Claude and Dimitri, hurry over. “Edelgard!” Dimitri calls. “You are unhurt?”

“Looks like she’s in one piece to me,” Claude says.

Byleth begins to inspect them for any battle nicks and bruises as well before taking one last glance to ensure the bandit leader truly is running off and away to cause trouble elsewhere. 

It’s dark, but the clearing they’re in is bathed in light from the nearly full moon and the additional torches the people of Remire were kind enough to lend them. But even if it weren’t for the light, his panicked, crunching footsteps through the dew soaked grass and labored breathing makes him a beacon of attention. 

Byleth is about to turn away again when Sothis’s whisper rattles her head. “Look, there is another.”

She barely resists startling at the voice—and Sothis gives her a chiding sigh at that—but Byleth still follows her directions dutifully enough.

The bandit leader is scampering off towards the forest’s edge and a silhouetted figure that had escaped Byleth’s cursory notice. The hooded figure is amorphous in their black cloak, and barely any light clings to their shapeless form.

“They blend in rather well, do they not?” Sothis says. “I can scarcely believe I noticed them at all—though I suppose if I can turn the flows of time, simple lookout duty is far beneath me. Though that’s enough time for congratulations. Keep on your guard—I’m getting… rather sleepy… My power may not be able to…”

Sothis’s voice drifts off, and Byleth raises her blade anew.

Edegard is the first to notice. “Is something—”

“There are more.”

The bandit reaches the figure standing just out of the moonlight’s reach. Despite the distance, Byleth hears his shriek loud and clear. “You didn’t tell me the fucking Knights of Seiros would be here! This wasn’t part of the deal!”

Byleth stays focused on the exchange before her, but she hears Edelgard shift to her side to get a better look as well. “Who is…”

Claude notches an arrow. “Looks like their boss came to the rescue.”

Byleth holds out her arm, shielding all three of them behind her. “Wait.”

There’s a flash of silver at the shadowed figure’s side, and Byleth only realizes they’re wielding a sword once they dart forward to plunge it into the bandit’s chest.

The figure withdraws their now gleaming red blade in one clean motion, and the bandit lets out a gurgling death screech that carries through the suddenly still night. 

Dimitri’s breath catches in his throat behind her, the figure’s actions somehow seeming far more ruthless than the combat they had just engaged in moment’s prior. Byleth lowers her voice, “stay behind me.”

The bright blood decorating the figure’s sword shines when it catches in the flickering torchlight. The streaks of blood, Byleth thinks, perfectly match the only other splash of color on the figure, flashes of red on their otherwise blinding white mask.

Edelgard is frozen. Dimirti’s voice carries in the suddenly dead silent night. “I-I do not understand. That man said they were working toget—”

The figure snaps towards them at the sound of his voice. 

They kick off the ground, charging so fast that they shift in and out of Byleth’s vision. But Byleth moves on instinct, using her arm that had been held in front of the assembled nobles to shove them all another step back. She holds her sword in front of her and prays that the drum of hoof beats in the distance will hurry up.

The figure leaps at them, blade soaked in blood held high, and they crash down to meet Jeralt’s sword as his mount skids to a stop in front of Byleth.

The figure bounces back at the contact, remaining upright even as their feet skid backwards across the empty field. Jeralt lets out a low laugh. “Looks like I made it just in time. Kid, this one seems a little out of your league. I can take it from here.”

Byleth nods. Behind her Claude, grabs both of his stunned companion’s by the arm and forces them a few more feet back. “You heard him. Let’s just sit back and watch for now.”

“Good idea,” Jeralt says with a snort. He turns his lance on the masked figure. “You’re probably inching to fight someone a bit tougher than those noble brats anyway, right?”

He isn’t met with a verbal response, but the figure straightens and holds their sword to their side. The moonlight touches every part of their smooth, white and red mask, and they remain completely silent as they tilt their head, not at Jeralt but behind him. The eyes are obscured on the mask, but Byleth feels the hair on the back of her neck standup as their gaze rakes over her.

Jeralt notices where their focus is, too. “If you’re going to try and sneak around me, don’t even think about it. I’ve been pulling tricks like that longer that you’ve been alive.”

They tilt their head back, as if to examine Jeralt. Then, they take one step back before a flash of darkness overtakes where their body had been.

Jeralt shakes his head. “Figured something like that would happen.” He turns back to Byleth. “Still, good work with the small fry, and sorry for the late arrival. Ran into someone I was not expecting.”

Byleth simply nods, and Jeralt accepts her silent acknowledgement as he dismounts his horse. 

Dimitri lets out a sigh. “That certainly was startling. What luck we ran into a former Knight of Seiros out here in the woods of all places.”

“Bit of a shame they ran away,” Claude says. “Guess the Blade Breaker’s fighting prowess will remain a legend for now.”

Byleth looks past them to Edelgard, white as a sheet and eyes locked on where their mysterious attacker had been. She’s visibly shaking and takes one staggering step towards where the stranger had been. Byleth senses she’s on the verge of collapse and lunges forward to catch her by the shoulders.

“Whoa, Edelgard,” Claude says. “You alright?” Then to Byleth, “Guess she was more shaken up than I thought.”

“We were just attacked by a pack of bandits in the dead of night, Claude,” Dimitri says, hurrying to her other side. “We are the odd ones for not being unsettled.” 

Byleth pays their bickering little attention, too concerned by the girl she saved twice now shivering in her arms. Below their chatter, she whispers as comfortingly as her monotone voice can manage, “I’ve got you.”

Edelgard slowly raises her head to meet her gaze and the fear in her eyes dissipates. “Y-Yes,” she says, taking a breath to regain her composure. “Thank you.”

“Can you stand on your own?”

“Ah—oh, yes, of course.”

She’s still noticeably pale, and she wraps her arms around herself protectively as soon as Byleth takes her supporting arms away. 

Jeralt casts his surveying gaze over them. “Take the time to pull yourselves together now. This peace and quiet isn’t going to last for long.”

Byleth takes her eyes off of Edelgard just long enough to raise a questioning eyebrow at her father. A boisterous shout of “Captain Jeralt!” is her answer.

The nobles—students Byleth officially realizes—recognize the man, Alois, who recognizes her father. All seems to be well, though Edelgard keeps herself trapped in a tight hug and her eyes wander the forest’s edge.

Byleth notices another shiver run through her and shrugs off her coat. 

Edelgard is protesting before she even extends the garment towards her. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. Besides, I really am fine now.”

Claude circles around them. “It’s not the cold that’s bothering her. It’s the ghooosts.”

Edelgard shoots him a glare that he responds to with a laugh. “You’re not funny. I simply want to return to the monastery as soon as possible to issue a report about our attacker. Unless you would like to scour the woods for them yourself?”

He laughs. “Princess, if you want me dead just say so. No need to play games with me.”

“Claude,” Dimitri intervenes. “I think that is quite enough. Perhaps we should speak of something else. We have quite the walk ahead of us, and focusing on something to calm our nerves may be for the best.”

“Else I might lose my head, and we’ll be down a professor and house leader. I hear you,” Claude says. “But if you’ll allow me one last question on the subject—Byleth, I’d like to hear your thoughts on our little incident.”

Byleth lets them walk a few paces in silence as she thinks it over, and part of her wishes Sothis—so new in her head—was awake to help with an answer. “They were strange.”

Claude raises an eyebrow. “Is that it?”

“Strong,” she says. Then, after a brief look over of the three of them, “stay out of the woods.”

Claude gives her another one over, and Byleth is vaguely aware she just failed some sort of test. “Enlightening,” he murmurs to himself. 

Dimitri apologizes for Claude’s behavior, and the boy in question strays a few steps ahead before circling back their entire walk to the monastery. Edelgard never looks anywhere but forward.

At the gates of Garreg Mach, Alois shuffles the students away, and Jeralt pulls her aside right as she makes eye contact with a woman bearing eerie green eyes.

-

Edelgard excuses herself as soon it’s not blatantly suspicious to do so. Dimitri worries for her wellbeing, and she wastes precious time assuring him she isn’t about to keel over without his watchful eye.

She keeps her strides as nonchalant as possible on her walk across Garreg Mach to her dorm, but just like the electricity she felt that night, there’s a new thrum racing through her pulse. She unlocks the heavy door to her room, locks it again once she slips inside, and pulls out her second set of keys for the chest lodged as far under bed as she could get it. 

The locks are as intricate and unpickable as possible on purpose, and Edelgard always thinks they aren’t worth it whenever she finds herself fiddling to retrieve her disguise. 

This time, more than ever, she grows impatient, even as part of her prays that the locks have somehow done their job in spite of what she witnessed that night. She unlatches the straps, nearly flinging the lid open, and sees inside her secret chest that the Flame Emperor’s Mask is exactly where she left it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new multi-chapter fic! My current plan is to update weekly with 3-5k chapters, but we’ll see how I do with that, haha. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!


	2. The Magician

_They camped in the ruins. He gathered the rotting wood together and set alight a humble fire. _

_She flinched at the sight of it and gripped the edges of her cloak even tighter. He sighed. “You need some warmth.”_

_She kept her eyes closed. She couldn’t bear to see his face encased even in the shadow of flames. _

_They were silent. The fire crackled. _

_“In the morning—” he started to say._

_“Yes. Now put the fire out.”_

_He complied. In the dark, she opened her serpentine eyes._

-

Rhea is a strange person, Byleth decides. Her hair curls like tendrils around her shoulders, making her appear more as an ancient pillar wrapped in vines than an otherwise delicate looking woman. Something else about her—the eyes, Byleth thinks later on and out of Rhea’s gaze—seems ancient, too. Jeralt had offhandedly mentioned he’s been around for a century or two before, but he defers to Rhea like a boy to their mother. 

Her father is an expert at reading her stony expressions, and Byleth can return the favor just as well. He rubs the back of his head and exudes more heavy sighs in minutes than he usually does in days. Most of all, he keeps his voice low, beckoning her over with a nod of his head to murmur warnings in her ear. 

Byleth associates her father with sloshing cups, boisterous full-bodied laughter, and earsplitting snoring from when she was a little girl and he would hold her close to his chest on cold nights. His steady heartbeat rebounding against her small head and cavalierly loud presence both seem to have fallen away in the ancient monastery’s hallowed halls.

He whispers, “Watch out for Rhea,” and Byleth remembers the only other time he had ever taken her aside.

She was only four and a village child called her a monster and tore a ratty doll from her hands. Byleth hit her head when she landed in the mud, clinging only to the doll’s torso, while the child threw its severed head at her feet. It hurt, and she there was blood on her fingers when she gingerly pressed them to the wound. She blinked at the sight of them, but did not cry, and she didn’t cry either when all the village children looked at her with fear.

Jeralt cleaned the wound and wrapped a bandage around her head without protest. He swore liberally with each prick of the sewing needle against his battle hardened hands as he put her toy back together. “Looks like it lost some stuffing. It’s gonna be a little flatter when it’s—shit—done. That alright, kid?”

He shook his hand and brushed his bloodied fingertips off on his sleeves. Byleth’s eyes flicker over the little red stains. “Some of your stuffing came out.”

Jeralt blinked, followed her gaze, and chuckled low in his chest. “So did you, kid. By the way,” he frowned, glancing around above her head before speaking deep and low. “People aren’t like dolls, by the way. We can’t just put our heads back on if they fall off.”

“I know.”

“That’s not all, kid,” he said. Then he set the doll aside and placed one of his hands on her tiny shoulder and the other over her heart. “Dolls don’t have hearts, yeah? Stab them through the chest with a sword, and they’ll be fine, right?”

“Mhmm.”

“But,” he looked to the side of her, unable to meet her dull eyes. “If you saw me fighting, and I stabbed a man and he didn’t die, what would you think of that?”

Byleth did think on it for a second. The concept of death was still foreign to her despite having witnessed so many skirmishes from the safety of camp. “Weird.”

“Yeah—it, it wouldn’t be a bad thing, but if other people found out—people who didn’t understand—they might not react well, you know?”

Byleth glanced down to her father’s hand, heavy and warm and over her cold heart. “If you don’t have a heart… are you a monster?”

And Jeralt pulled her into a hug. “No, kid, of course not. That’s why I said people who didn’t understand—they’re the problem not you. Just,” and he pulled her away just enough to look at her eyes that on any other child would be brimming with tears, “we’ll just keep it our little father-daughter secret, alright?”

Byleth nodded, and sat at her father’s feet, watching him put her little broken toy back together.

It hadn’t crossed her mind to ask why she was a monster, but she wishes she had now as she walks alone through the echoing halls. 

Byleth had only ever been in run down churches before, taking shelter from the rain or routing groups of bandits hunkering down in their abandoned shells as makeshift hideouts. The stain glassed windows seemed almost wrong not being shattered and covered in dust and the statues standing revenant and foreboding instead of scattered on pieces on the ground. 

But what surprises her most is the people. In their travels, she had passed through cities with Jeralt’s band before, but the sheer number of young, well dressed people staring at her was new. She had been told with a wink that only the three students she saved knew her true purpose, but twitterings of her deeds weaved through the air down every path she turned. 

A particularly interesting conversation catches her notice, and Byleth listens in instead of looking ahead. The tall man she bumps into doesn’t make a sound at their impact. Byleth stumbles a step back and stares up at the masked man.

They both regard each other in silence for a moment. Byleth realizes she is only in part waiting for him to speak first and mostly remaining quiet by her nature. The masked man gazes down at her, and Byleth wonders if it’s his nature, too.

“The new professor,” he says finally. “Correct?”

Byleth nods.

“Jeritza,” he says. “Only call upon me if it is up the utmost importance. I care nothing for friendship.”

Byleth thinks on Hanneman and Manuela’s welcoming chatter upon her joining their ranks and the word they had used—colleagues. She had never heard the term before, and Jeralt had paused then explained that it meant teammates when she looked to him for guidance.

“Allies?” 

The corners of Jeritza’s mouth tug further down into their frown. “Nothing more.”

“Is there a difference?”

It’s difficult to make out his facial expressions from the mask, but Byleth can imagine his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. “Yes,” he says.

Byleth isn’t sure what the conversation passing between them is supposed to mean, and she studies what she can see of his face for answers. She also thinks the number of people she’s encountered with masks in the past day has been highly unusual. 

Jeritza must feel her suspicious raking over his mask as he turns his head. “I have little else to say.”

Though she can’t quite replicate them, Byleth does recognize basic social decorum enough to understand she is being brushed off. She accepts his retreat as she thinks that her filling the silence is hardly a possibility.

“I quite agree,” Sothis says. “And what would we have even said to that man? He is most curious, but that is hardly a topic of conversation upon first meeting.”

There are students buzzing around, slightly in awe at seeing the new strange mercenary attempt to make conversation with Garreg Mach’s most intimidating professor. Even if it was less crowded, Byleth isn’t quite sure how to answer Sothis in a coherent way. Her thoughts were sometimes a precise march, but they wandered and weaved around themselves, interwoven with memories, half sentences, and incomplete recollections of images. Their communication through thought alone surely had to be a mess for Sothis to untangle. 

“Ah, I am glad to hear you have at least the slightest idea of the trials you cause me,” Sothis says. “Though I can hardly fault you. With so much excitement, my own thoughts have been slipping through my fingers. Just do your best to think a concise thought or two for my sake, would you?”

Byleth did her best to send a singular _yes_ to Sothis without letting her next thought speak over her. 

“Good. Also be about your task—simply standing here motionless is likely to also attract attention.”

Byleth takes a jerky step forward at Sothis’s advice. Some of the surrounding students point and whisper. Byleth hears an echoing sigh from the depths of her mind. 

She manages to find some semblance of nonchalance as she continues to explore the monastery. 

Amidst the general hum of activity, Byleth’s eyes wander to the more elite students she was told had been selected to attend class alongside their house leaders. She sees where Jertiza wandered off to and a scowling boy with a sword engaging in a conversation only fractionally more lively than the one she had shared with him. A rather pretty rose haired girl and a boy in a custom tailcoat seem caught up in admiring the flowers blossoming around the classrooms with Claude only a step or two behind. He makes some comment just out of the edge of Byleth’s hearing that causes the prim looking boy to snap to attention with a glare. 

Claude laughs, and Byleth thinks she would smile at the scene if it weren’t beyond her. Instead, she decides to leave them be, resolving to fulfill her duty in speaking to Claude later.

Edelgard is also speaking to one of her classmates. She’s down the hall near the stairs, the least crowded part of monastery, a fact Byleth finds herself grateful for. She’s less grateful when she notices Edelgard is speaking to someone partially obscured in the shadows.

They’re speaking in hushed, hurried tones, and Byleth realizes she has definitely intruded on something. Both Edelgard and the person she had been speaking with turn at the sound of Byleth’s footsteps on the stone floor. She decides to make no effort to pretend she didn’t see something or was going a different direction as she walks the rest of the way towards them. 

Edelgard straightens, regaining the composure her surprise had sent scurrying. “Ah, Byleth—or perhaps I should start calling you professor now.”

“Perhaps.” Byleth nods. She feels vaguely like something is crawling down her spine, and her gaze slides off of Edelgard towards the person in the shadows.

He is tall, gaunt, and though Byleth has known this individual for seconds, she thinks that his current place in the dark suits him perfectly. 

Edelgard notices the shift in attention. “Introductions are in order, yes? I’d be happy to tell you anything you’d like to know about the Black Eagles, and Hubert is a fine place to start. Hubert,” she turns her head just a fraction. “Would you mind introducing yourself? And keep threats to a minimum if you could—not everyone shares your sense of humor.”

Hubert smiles, though Byleth feels very little comfort from it. “Of course. I am Lady Edelgard’s vassal, Hubert von Vestra. I must thank you for coming to her rescue. May that first encounter be a sign of things to come.”

Byleth thinks the number of strange, foreboding men she has encountered in the past few hours is also startlingly high. “I am happy to lend aid,” she says. 

“And I never expressed quite how thankful I was to receive it,” Edelgard says. “Also I feel the need to apologize for myself. I promise you that that situation was a rarity, and in the heat of battle I never falter like that.”

Hubert seems to melt away into the shadows, forgotten when placed next to Edelgard’s bright sincerity. From their strange positioning—half in darkness, half in light—Edelgard’s pale hair and complexion both seem to glow. Byleth hears another aggravated sigh from somewhere in the crevices of her mind not occupied by thoughts of delicate snowlike hair.

“I believe you,” Byleth says. “You did well in the prior fight.”

Edelgard’s soft lips quirk into a smile. “Thank you, and you did as well. What a chance to meet a mercenary as skilled as yourself alongside an opportunity for you to display your prowess. Dimitri said it seemed as if you were sent by the goddess, herself.”

Byleth has heard that and similar sentiments more in the past few hours than she has in her entire life. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’m unacquainted with the goddess.”

Edelgard’s eyebrows rise, and she exchanges a glance with Hubert still lurking behind her. “I see. Well, that aside, you have my present gratitude and will gain even more if you decide to lead the Black Eagle house.”

“Now’s your opportunity—ask her for information,” Sothis whispers. “We have to complete Rhea’s task at some point.”

“Yes, the Black Eagles, um,” Byleth stumbles. “Are they…”

She doesn’t have any real question in mind, but Edelgard laughs and starts to answer whatever she must have assumed Byleth was asking. “A quirky bunch? I can’t deny that, but I do promise I am better at keeping my house under control than either Claude or Dimitri. Would you agree, Hubert?”

“Lady Edelgard is twice the leader both of the others would be put together.”

“Thank you for the endorsement, Hubert,” Edelgard says. “But, really, while some of them may not give the best first impression, they are all kind souls and have promising futures.”

“And yourself?” Byleth asks.

Edelgard blinks then regains her smile, just as bright as before. “Excuse me if I don’t give the best first impression either. Our first meeting was… tumultuous, and it is a bit tricky to speak of yourself on the spot. But I can say with confidence that I am the heir to the throne of the Adrestian Empire, and am nothing if not disciplined and ambitious to a fault. I’ve been told I could work on loosening up a bit more, but, well that advice mostly came from Claude, and I make it a habit to ignore him on such matters.”

Byleth nods. “Okay.”

Edelgard raises an eyebrow at the short response. “Do you have any more questions?”

If she does, they have escaped her. Byleth shakes her head. “No.”

Edelgard gives her another gentle smile. “Very well. If anything else does come to you, let me know. I’ll be happy to answer.”

“Okay.”

She leaves Edelgard and Hubert in the dark, though she feels both of their gazes weighing on her back.

“How very strange they are,” Sothis says. “It would not have been wise, but I almost regret that you did not ask them what they were speaking of before your arrival. It seemed quite animated.”

Byleth internally agrees, but her curiosity doesn’t outweigh whatever strange fascination she feels buzzing just under the surface of her skin in Edelgard’s presence. It had been strangely easy to off her the comfort and her coat in the darkness, but in the daylight, there is a slight thrum on the edge of her consciousness, as if something is trying but failing to break through inside of her.

But it doesn’t break through, and Byleth heads off towards where she sees Dimitri and a startlingly tall man to continue Rhea’s mission.

Dimitri is nothing if not polite, and the students in his house—with one sword bearing exception—seem cordial enough. When Byleth goes to greet Claude he is as jovial as ever, but she still feels the weight of whatever failed judgment passed between them, and Sothis whispers to her again that his smile never quite seems to reach his eyes. As unique as his housemates seem, part of her knows she already missed her chance to be a leader to him.

Edelgard’s words warning about the temperament of her house proves to be true, as well. Two noble boys of opposite demeanors manage to trample over basic social graces in similarly opposite fashions. A very pretty dark haired girl winks and twitters through their conversation while the redheaded boy with her rattles off codes of etiquette at first meetings that Byleth never even heard whispers of existing. Another girl speaks a bit strangely but presents herself in a regal manner similar to Edelgard, which is enough of a break from the general whirlwind of meetings that Byleth barely blinks when a mousy girl screams and flees at her approach. 

And she also remembers Hubert and his fleeting, shadowy presence. 

None of the other students unsettle her, but also none of them possess the magnetism that comes off of Edelgard in waves.

She lets Manuela and Hanneman know, and Hanneman practically claps his hands in delight. “An excellent choice. And in that case I shall lead the Golden Deer—remind me to share some of my research on their Crests with you. Most fascinating stuff.”

Manuela lowers her voice but not enough that Hanneman won’t hear when she says to Byleth, “take my advice, dear, don’t.”

Rhea appears happy with her decision, though from Byleth’s short interactions with her, Rhea seems to be over the moon with every monosyllable word out of her mouth. 

She lets Manuela and Hanneman know they’re to prepare their classes for a mock battle before dismissing them and asking Byleth to stay.

“I know this is all very sudden,” Rhea says once they’re alone. “But I want to tell you once again how much faith I have in you to guide the students. I have the utmost confidence in Jeralt’s teaching, and I know you will give us here at Garreg Mach the honor of passing down those teachings to another generation.”

Rhea’s eyes shine, and there’s another dulled pulse through Byleth. It fizzles out before it can manifest as anything more than a passing chill, and Byleth retains her usual stone faced expression as she nods. “I will try.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Rhea smiles. “If you have any trouble teaching, please reach out to me. I promise I will guide you every step of the way and lend you whatever aid I can. I may be the archbishop, but I can assure you there are few tasks that I would prioritize above easing your transition into teaching.”

She’s sincere as far as Byleth can tell, but her father’s even sincerer warning doesn’t leave her mind. “Thank you.”

“I also understand that Jeralt chose not to educate you on the Church of Seiros,” she says. “But do not fret if you feel there is something that catches you unaware. You are in the best place in all of Fodlan to learn Seiros’s teachings. The monks, Seteth, and I will be happy to dispel any and all ignorance you may have over the goddess. Now then, do you have any questions?”

Byleth pauses to wait for Sothis to chirp an answer for her to parrot but nothing comes. Left to find her own words, Byleth says, “Did the Knights of Seiros find the masked figure who attacked the students?”

Rhea’s face falls with genuine distress. “I am afraid not, though after listening to Jeralt’s report, I have instructed some of the most elite knights to lead the search effort. I also must ask you to not speak of the incident around the students unless prompted. Though they have a right to be wary, it would not do well to disturb them with news of their attacker remaining beyond even the church’s extensive reach.”

“And yet you someone remained out of that very same reach,” Sothis says. “Perhaps her grip does not have the strength she assumes… quite curious.”

“If the students do ask,” Rhea says. “Simply tell them the Knights of Seiros are handling on it. I suppose my one regret is that our meeting has happened due to such strange events, however,” she smiles. “Fate is nothing but strange.”

-

Byleth feels like she takes to teaching with all the grace of a newly hatched wyvern. But her perpetually unmoved demeanor more than does its part to quell any questions about her professionalism. She stays up late and wakes up early to scour the library for proper teaching materials to learn the finer points herself before presenting them to her eight students. 

Manuela gifted her instruction books on faith magic and Hanneman on reason, and Byleth assumes that Rhea went about twisting Seteth’s arm at some point when he drops a few dozen instructional scrolls on the basics of flight for beginners onto her desk.

In a meeting before the mock battle, Manuela downs a cup of coffee and confesses that the first weeks are always the most difficult and even experienced teachers find themselves running around as if their heads were cut off. Byleth nods and acknowledges she should feel frazzled, but all that passes through her is a familiar itch that succumbs to the usual monotony of her emotions. 

Byleth still confesses that it’s difficult, and Hanneman smiles and says he’s impressed at how well she’s taking to it. Jeritza stares. There have been no reports on the masked figure other than the usual gossip of peasants that has existed since Seiros walked the earth. Then Seteth bursts in and beings barking directions that Byleth copies down into her journal as best as her poor handwriting lets her.

The only time she truly feels confident as a teacher are the hours she gets the training grounds. 

The training weapons were a great curiosity at first—noble children beating each other with sticks. When she was young, she remembers grasping a stray sword with her hands grimy from the adventures of childhood and Jeralt assessing the situation with little more than a sigh before he started teaching her himself.

Sothis catches wind of the memory passing through her head and balks. “As a child! Out of the crib and onto the battlefield—what nonsense. And that Rhea was praising your father’s teaching as if he was an exemplar.”

Byleth shrugs in response. She doesn’t understand Sothis’s offense to her own upbringing, but staring at the beaming young faces in school uniforms, there is a subtle pain in her chest at the idea of throwing them into battle as she was. 

So she arms them with sticks and sets them against training dummies and each other in practice matches to assess what she’s working with.

Petra is fast—her quick sword strikes rivaling Byleth’s own. Ferdinand is also quick on his feet but in a different way. Petra moves far faster than him on her first strike, but he seems to anticipate her movements and darts out of the way, turning her would be deadly strike into a glancing blow. 

They end their battle with a shake of hands and a flurry of responses to Byleth’s questions.

“I have much practice with hunting,” Petra says. “Battle is different, but there are some skills from tracking prey that um… be translating well to battle.”

Stealth and speed, Byleth thinks. Good.

“Ah so I was practicing with a master hunter,” Ferdinand says. “Though you must agree that I am hardly easy prey. I approach every battle with the proper confidence and composure befitting of a noble.”

Quick but overconfident. Not as good.

In the far corner, Bernadetta managed to get three bull’s-eyes before Ferdinand and Petra’s match veered a few inches too close, and she had to flee.

Easily panics. Bad. Byleth writes down a note in her journal to spend extra time with her.

Edelgard has enough skill with her axe already that she can run sparring sessions with Caspar all on her own. Byleth still watches amazed at watching a girl as slight as Edelgard whip her battleaxe this way and that as if it were as light as a feather. Caspar is diminutive enough that his own strength also catches Byleth’s attention, though she finds her eyes naturally draw to Edelgard.

They both bear strength that is sure to surprise their opponents, and Caspar is quick enough that Byleth decides to give serious consideration to his request to try punching out one of the dummies with just his fists.

He lets out a battle yell and then smacks dummy hard enough that its entire wooden frame rattles precariously back and forth. 

Strong and reckless is a combination Byleth has seen many times before from mercenaries traveling alongside her father. Time and time again, they would encounter some horrific incident on the battlefield that would serve as a harsh lesson in caution or they would die. Thinking such things about a boy under her care makes Byleth feel a fleeting twist of discomfort. She makes a note in her journal to keep an eye on him.

Edelgard is near flawless in form as she promised. Byleth notes she’ll keep an eye on her as well. 

For the other three, Byleth had seen little point in pretending she had any skill with magic. Hubert smirked and said he at least appreciated her confessing to her own incompetence, which Sothis assured her was not a compliment. She vowed to ask Manuela and Hanneman for guidance. Another note for her journal.

In the meantime, Hubert seemed skilled and she estimated they were roughly the same age. In response to his dark chuckle, she asked, “would you teach them then?”

“For Lady Edelgard’s sake, I suppose I have little choice,” he said. “Though if I must continue doing so after the mock battle, I think I will have to ask Rhea to reconsider her choice in professors.”

“You could have half of my stipend,” Byleth said. 

Her sincerity gave Hubert pause. “That will not be necessary. I can assure you I am not wanting for gold.”

“Okay.”

Hubert must have been waiting for some reaction that Byleth didn’t give him as he narrowed his eyes. “Just know that the success of the Black Eagles is important to Lady Edelgard, and I don’t tolerate any obstacle that stands in her path.”

“I’ll study magic,” Byleth said evenly.

Hubert must have wanted to say something else, but from the corner of the training grounds, Dorothea crooned, “Hubie, Lin and I are ready to start!”

He gave Byleth one lingering glare. “See that you do. This will be the only time I expend any effort into mitigating your failings.”

He left. Byleth took out her journal.

-

In the mock battle, Edelgard takes care of berating Ferdinand for even sharing his idea of charging forward alone for Byleth. The three of them still take the frontline against the funny little training bows the other students wield. Dorothea stays a step back for support and at Hubert’s side, both because it’s the most logical placement and because when Byleth was planning the night before Sothis suggested that leaving Hubert behind her unattended may not be the best plan for her health.

They emerge victorious with a few scrapes, bruises, and memories of Edelgard clashing wooden weapons with Dimitri. It was in battle that Byleth truly recognized the poise she held. Ferdinand had jabbered on about noble posture in practice, but when Edelgard weaved forward and backward in a tangled dance with her opponent, Byleth finally saw what he had been getting at. She never associated chipped, wooden axes with elegance, but through shaking hands with the other professors and the entire celebratory dinner, the image lingers.

“Thank you for leading us today,” Edelgard says that night. “I hope I have proven myself worthy of being your student. In truth, I was surprised you picked to lead our class after my poor performance the first time we met.”

In the sudden flurry that Byleth’s life had turned into that night faded into a dull memory of white hair and masks. “I never doubted you.”

Edelgard smiles. “And I hope to never give you reason to. Thank you, my teacher.”

She walks off into the night, her hair glowing with the moon’s touch until she is fully succumbed in the shadow of the monastery.

Another prickle of something unknown creeps through Byleth’s mind. It dies before it can flourish into anything tangible, but that’s the fate of every feeling daring enough to try to take root. 

Her room has begun to feel like home in the few weeks since she’s been at Garreg Mach, and though constantly traveling has allowed her to sleep anywhere with little trouble, there is a comfort she appreciate as she crawls into her bed. The appreciation fades to apathy, and her consciousness fades to sleep.

Sothis has joined Byleth in her dreams ever since her awakening. They go wherever Sothis wants every night, and Sothis jokes that Byleth would be completely directionless without her. Byleth doesn’t disagree. Sothis’s mouth twists into a frown.

She pads through the darkness away from her throne, the scenery around them shifting from the black of sleep to a dusty canyon. The two of them wander the set of ancient ruins in its depths, the place half familiar to both of them. 

“I see this place often when I chase after my memories,” Sothis says. “I must have lived here, or at least visited when something significant happened. Otherwise I would not keep returning to it. Why else would I be pulled back here…”

Byleth remains silent. There are no places she ever feels the need to return to, and she has a tangible body.

“There is no point in sitting still questioning when our answers may be before us. Come along.”

Sothis skips ahead, and Byleth gets the feeling she adores the feeling of the ground beneath her feet. 

“Oh you have not even the slightest idea!” Sothis declares, answering her thoughts even in her dream. “You do not know how much it pains me to possess all of my vast power yet not be able to feel the breeze on my face. So the next time you moan about the aches and pains from the children’s wooden swords know that you should feel grateful instead.”

Byleth thinks she will not take Sothis up on that. Sothis makes a face at her and strolls ahead, arms held out to her sides as she balances along the edge of a raised ruin like a tightrope walker.

They walk until they find a tunnel leading underground in the very back of the ruins. Sothis claps her hands and exclaims there has to be something down in its depths—what are mysterious tunnels for otherwise?—and Byleth follows Sothis until her vision is completely dark. She keeps moving, keeps listening for the jingles of Sothis’s bobbles and jewelry. 

Deep underground, there’s a warm breeze on the back of her neck. There’s a tickle of emotion over her skin that she has never felt in one of her dreams with Sothis before. Fear.

It dies in seconds, and Byleth resumes following the sound of Sothis’s footsteps despite the rising heat. The tunnel is sweltering, and Byleth brushes the sweat starting to streak down her forehead and into her eyes away with the fear just on the edge of her mind.

The words come to her not as a voice but as text placed directly into her thoughts. _They have taken your heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth is a bit of a difficult character to write, so I ended up leaning on her relationship with Sothis... and then really liking her relationship with Sothis, haha. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


	3. The High Priestess

_It was empty. _

_She knew it would be, but she forced them to drag themselves through the fire and ice anyway. _

_He looked over her shoulder. “At least,” he said, “it was not used against us.”_

_Her throat was dry, and her eyes were wet. Tiny wet spots pitter-pattered into the barren grave._

_“Even this,” she said, “was taken from me.”_

_She trembled. He said, “We can succeed without it. Besides, you are stronger now than you were then—we both are.”_

_She closed the lid, and the sound of it slamming shut echoed through the room. “Add it to the list.”_

_He paused then took out a piece of dirtied parchment._

-

Edelgard knows she has a soft spot for the little comforts in life—warm blankets, fuzzy cats, tasty food. Garreg Mach boasts all three in abundance, and they provide just enough distraction to put a soft limit on her steadily rising nerves. 

Hubert takes his place across from her at the large dining table with a slight nod. To anyone else, the gesture would seem to indicate his appropriate deference and respect, but Edelgard knew Hubert’s ticks and mannerisms almost as well as he knew hers. She nods back, and the details of their meeting later that day are set in stone without a word. 

Beside her, Dorothea sings, “Morning, Hubie. I know you and Edie can read minds, but say a word in greeting to the rest of us, would you?” 

Hubert turns upon her with his usual dark expression—though no darker, Edelgard notes. “You have lived to wake another day. Congratulations.”

“I suppose that is my fault,” she says. “I should have specified ‘like a normal person.’ Honestly, Edie, how do you put with him?”

“He grows on you, I promise,” Edelgard says. 

“If I had a gold coin every time I was told that about a man, I wouldn’t have to bother with men at all,” Dorothea says. “But since I still have two dates this afternoon, I think I will bother you to at least smile.”

“N-No—don’t!” Bernadetta squeaks. “That’s so, so, so much worse!”

“Well, yes,” Dorothea says. “But he’ll never get better if he doesn’t practice.”

Hubert scowls. “And I have no intention of that.”

“Practicing smiling or getting better?” Petra asks, leaning around Dorothea to get a better look at Hubert. 

“Both.”

Dorothea sighs. “You make me so sad, Hubie. You have such excellent bone structure and you put it all to waste. If,” she rises from her seat, and Edelgard has to resist her sudden urge to snort in laughter as Dorothea begins to play with his hair. “You pulled some of your hair back or maybe cut it or just wash—”

Hubert smacks her hands away, and the dark curtain of hair falls back over his eye, slightly more frazzled than before. “Do not touch—”

“Dorothea,” Linhardt says, drawing Edelgard’s attention to her other side. “Why do you have a problem with that and not,” he gestures towards Caspar doing his best to inhale the plate of food before him, “Caspar’s impending death.”

Dorothea ignores Hubert’s attempts to dodge away from her hands and reaches for his bangs again. “Well, we can cross that bridge when we get to it—he’ll learn his lesson eventually.”

“Wha?” Caspar asks around a mouthful of food. “Learn wha—”

Hubert reaches up to smack her hands again, but Dorothea beats him to it, giving the back of his hand a quick swat. “But we need to stage an intervention for Hubie,” she says, not missing a beat. “He’ll never learn otherwise, and this cannot go on. Don’t you agree, Edie?”

Hubert returns the smile on Edelgard’s face with a look of pure betrayal. “While I certainly don’t think you should harass him, Dorothea, Hubert, you have worn your hair like that for quite a few years now…”

“Lady Edelgard…”

Dorothea claps her hands in delight. “Ah-ha, Edie’s word is law. Now you have no choice but to—”

Their babble is interrupted by Ferdinand announcing his presence with somehow even more enthusiasm than usual. “Good morning, everyone!” he says, taking the seat next to Edelgard. On her other side, Linhardt groans and covers his ears. “How are you all doing in the wake of our noble victory? I, personally, am aware that we must not rest on our laurels, but I also have to admit that I am enjoying my time here at Garreg Mach more and more each passing day.”

“Rest on… laurels?” Petra asks. “What is a ‘laurel’ and why should we not be resting upon it?”

Dorothea rolls her eyes as she sits back down next to Petra. “I can tell you later, but right now it just means Ferdie’s going to try and do Edie’s job and boss us around.”

“Well, I would not mind showing Edelgard my superior leadership skills,” Ferdinand says. “But I was merely commenting on how wonderful our time here has been so far.”

Edelgard raises an eyebrow. She was more than used to Ferdinand’s relentless sunny optimism and impromptu listings of his apparently vast—or at least vaster than her—accomplishments. But seeing him barely resisting humming to himself with joy was out of the ordinary. 

Linhardt seems to notice as well. “Is that why you’re blooming in more ways than one today?”

“Ah, I suppose someone was bound to notice,” he says. “Well, if you insist on knowing—”

“We aren’t,” Dorothea says under her breath.

“—I think it would not be too ignoble to share with you.” Ferdinand sits up a bit straighter and lowers his voice not a whisper but a good effort for him. “As you all know, my birthday was yesterday, and while it was one present to lead our house to victory in the mock battle, this morning I discovered someone had slipped a card under my door wishing me well.”

“A card?” Bernadetta says, daring to speak up for the second time that morning.

“Yes!” he exclaims, any pretense of his supposed reservations vanishing at the slightest hint of interest. “And it said such wonderful things about my bravery and many talents. My only regret is that the writer did not sign it so I cannot properly give them my thanks.”

Dorothea clicks her tongue. “Well, of all the people to have a secret admirer. I guess you can only account for taste so much.”

“Oh, the writer had excellent taste,” Ferdinand says. “In just such a short note, they managed to eloquently describe all of my best qualities such as my growing skill in battle, my radiant smile, and, of course, my tactical know-how.”

Edelgard didn’t share Dorothea’s disdain, but she did feel a growing sense of suspicion. Though Ferdinand was a rather persistent thorn in her side, she wouldn’t tolerate anyone playing a cruel joke on him or any of her new charges. “Really now?”

“Ah, Edelgard, I understand, but there is really no need to be jealous. I am sure one of your admirers will reach out to you one day as well.”

Edelgard can’t help but bring her hand up to her forehead to help ease the slowly building headache. She glances across the table and sees immediately that Hubert is in a mood to only make things worse.

“If it weren’t for the date,” Hubert says. “I would question if such a gift was meant for you at all.”

Ferdinand rounds on him. “Of course I did not expect you to understand.”

“Oh trust me. You are truly beyond comprehension.”

“And you are blind to the virtues of any of your comrades besides—”

“That is enough,” Edelgard say, and Hubert’s mouth clamps shut at her command. She takes a deep breath and turns to Ferdinand. “We are all very happy for you. Just make sure that this is an earnest gift and not one of Claude’s practical jokes before you tell anyone else, alright?”

Ferdinand’s face falls at the suggestion. “Oh… well, I don’t think that’s the case…”

“That would not be a joke at all,” Petra says. “Would Claude be doing such a thing?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Dorothea says. “Although I would assume his first target would be Lorenz or maybe Sylvain even if Ferdie’s more likely to fall for it.”

Ferdinand looks thoroughly demolished, and Hubert chuckles. “I suppose that clears up that mystery. All is right with the world again.”

“I, well,” Ferdinand clears his throat and puts a new smile back on. “That certainly is a possibility, but I will choose to believe otherwise until given good reason.”

“Um, couldn’t you just, you know,” Bernadetta says, her voice getting quieter with every word as more attention draws to her. “Check the handwriting?”

“Ah, yes!” Ferdinand exclaims. “Bernadetta you are truly a genius. That settles that. As soon as classes and all my other noble duties are finished for today, I will set about solving this mystery of my secret admirer.”

“Oh,” Petra beams. “That is sounding like fun.”

Dorothea stops midway through eye roll at Petra’s approval. “Uh, really? Well, I guess it could be—”

“Hey professor!”

Caspar waves a hand in the air, and the attention shifts to Byleth, who seems to have appeared at the end of their table out of thin air. What Edelgard is coming to recognize as Byleth’s usual blank stare shifts over all of them one by one, assessing something Edelgard can only guess at. Edelgard takes the moment to straighten her shoulders and tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear even as Byleth elects to sit at the far end of the table.

She leans around, just enough to get another glimpse of her eyes, and greets her with, “good morning, my teacher. How are you doing this morning?”

Byleth always takes a second to reply to even the simplest questions as if she never quite believes anyone could actually be addressing her or is weighing her words so carefully that every monosyllable is deserving of consideration. Edelgard isn’t quite sure which one it is, but Byleth offers her a slight nod after a moment of deliberation. 

“Good,” she says. “The night felt long.”

Edelgard is unsure what that means and from the general looks of confusion passing over the faces of the other Black Eagles, she knows she isn’t alone in her bafflement. Linhardt raises his head from where it had been piled on his arms to stare at her incredulously. “If only. I got a head start on napping as soon after the mock battle as possible, and I still don’t think I slept enough. If fighting is always this exhausting, I think I’m going to have to quit.”

“That’s your own fault,” Caspar says. “You stayed up all night the day before.”

“Well the night before I found a book that was far more interesting than the library’s sual fair. I hardly see how that is my fault.”

They descend back into chatter, and Edelgard looks back over to Byleth to say again, just below the noise so only the two of them can hear, “I am glad you are feeling well, my teacher.”

Byleth’s eyes shift to her and then away as she nods to herself.

-

In her room, Edelgard settles in her desk chair while Hubert stands. “Any changes?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no. Lord Arundel continues to insist he has no knowledge of the Flame Emperor’s appearance that night.”

Edelgard shakes her head with a sigh. “Why would he play games with us like this now? I certainly would expect something like this later but when our plans are still in their infancy?”

“He lacks even more honor and reason than he assumed, which is impressive given that I previously afforded him none,” Hubert says.

“Like wise,” she says. “However, even if he refuses to admit it and insists on plotting right in front of us, I don’t see any reason to change our main course, especially since our goal should coincide for the time being. Loath as I am to admit it, the only thing we can do is wait for the Flame Emperor to appear again and try to ascertain what we can of their plans.”

“I agree,” Hubert says. Then he pauses, drumming his on his folded arms. “I do wonder…” He trails off, expression pensive. 

“Yes?” she prompts.

“I… believe we should operate assuming Lord Arundel is lying to us,” he says. “However, I also wonder where one of his men got the costume in the first place. We checked all of the various places we have your disguises hidden, and all of them were accounted for.”

“He probably had another commissioned,” Edelgard says. “I don’t think it is that much of a mystery.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Still, I think it would be good to keep an eye on our extras, just in case.”

Edelgard casts a way eye over Hubert, aware she doesn’t understand whatever cogs are in turning in his mind at the moment. “If you think that would be best, then I see no reason not to. Now, are there any other reports?”

“No new ones,” he says. “Simply continuations of old information. Jeritza is ready to go to battle whenever you give the order and Thales has almost finished training his second agent to bring to the monastery.”

“Alright. In that case, I think we can be done for the day. Oh, but Hubert.”

“Yes, Lady Edelgard?”

“About Dorothea’s advice—”

“I will be taking my leave, Lady Edelgard.”

“At least consider it.”

“Goodbye, Lady Edelgard.”

And days pass in peace. Between meetings with Hubert about greater matters, Edelgard’s life becomes a routine of classes, training, and badgering of her underperforming classmates. And Byleth is there, commenting on the strangeness of certain nights and the importance of weapons maintenance in between moments where she stares into space or out into the pond for far too long to be normal.

Edelgard notices that Byleth spends more time with her father, too, than she had before. But if Jeralt walking her to her classes and watching from out of sight in the training grounds bothered her, Byleth said nothing so Edelgard did her best to pretend it was nothing, too. Apparently a girl in the Golden Deer was seething with jealousy over all the attention Jeralt paid there way, but that meant little to Edelgard other than Claude complaining of headaches during meetings of the house leaders, and she made it a point that Claude meant little to her.

The languid ebb and flow of lessons and studies come to a halt one morning early in the month. With Hubert at his usual place at her side, Edelgard reaches the courtyard outside the classrooms where Seteth stands at attention, Manuela, Hanneman, and Byleth beside him, and the first gaggle of early risers assembled before them.

Ferdinand is there already, and Edelgard pushes her way through the growing crowd towards him. “What is going on?” she says at her approach.

He leans down to her, and while normally Edelgard would expect a comment about how he is superior due to having an earlier waking schedule, today his jaw is set with a near uncharacteristic seriousness and he says in low tones, “I am unsure, so I asked the professor before Seteth waved me away, but she was able to tell me that,” he pauses.

“Get on with it,” Hubert snaps.

Ferdinand levels a glare but continues to announce, “Apparently someone broke into Professor Manuela’s office last night.”

When Seteth claps his hands to start the meeting he lets them know that the only thing that was taken was her lesson plan, and whoever the thief is would do well to return it promptly to avoid even more stringent punishment than what is awaiting them. He goes onto let them know all mission plans will continue as normal, only he will help the Blue Lions this month until the documents are returned. With another accusatory glare he says, “and if the thief has not taken complete leave of their senses, they will be returned.”

The murmurs rise throughout the day, and the mysterious thief is accused with making off with a variety of items Edelgard recalls seeing lying haphazardly around the monastery due to sheer carelessness. In the Black Eagles class, Byleth doesn’t give the strange occurrence a fraction of her attention and instead focus on how their first real mission will be to dispose of a group of bandits who have taken up residence in the Red Canyon.

“This will be the first time many of you will kill another person,” she says, her voice as calm as if she were explaining the logistics of supply lines. “If you have any concerns about this, please come to me beforehand. It is best you work out your hesitation now than when you are in active danger.”

As expected Bernadetta scurries over after the rest of the lesson concludes to beg and plead to be taken off the mission. Less expected, Edelgard catches Dorothea lingering at her desk, fidgeting with her hands before finally gathering her books and leaving, pointedly keeping her gaze to the floor. Linhardt also stalls by the door but leaves as well when Caspar asks if anything is wrong. Edelgard makes a note to keep an eye on all three of them.

When the class clears, Edelgard dismisses Hubert and approaches Byleth still attempting to awkwardly comfort Bernadetta being crushed under the weight of her own terror. 

“I-I absolutely can’t do it!” she exclaims. “I’m completely worthless all the time, and in battle I’m even worse than useless! Someone will die because of me—e-everyone will die because of me, I just know it! And it won’t even be a fast death either, I bet. Oh no, oh no, I’m sure of it—they’ll—”

Byleth looks mildly overwhelmed for half a second before her features cool again, the emotion skipping off of her like a stone on a lake. 

“Bernadetta,” she says. “You have improved quite a bit in the last few weeks. I have faith in you, so have faith in yourself.”

“No, no, no,” Bernadetta says. “I’ve only improved because I was starting at zero! I’m worthless and pathetic and so stupid that I know I’ll make a mistake and get my head bashed in or stabbed a hundred times or—”

“I think we will all make mistakes,” Edelgard says. “It’s our first real battle. I think hesitation and fumbling are going to be the norm. It’s expected of you to falter—it’s expected of everyone to falter.”

Bernadetta turns to her, eyes wide. “Wha—ah—everyone’s going to be making mistakes? Oh, we’re definitely all going to die for sure then!”

“You won’t,” Byleth says. “No one will die except for the bandits.”

She says it with such certainty that Bernadetta’s ever mounting anxiety seems to stop in its track at least long enough for her to ask, “R-Really? How can you know that?”

“Because I won’t allow anything else,” she says. “And if it comes to it, I will place myself between you and any swords, axes, or lances that might harm you.”

Edelgard can’t help but feel a touch of unease at the comment—the memory of Byleth doing just that for her feels like it has been branded in her mind. She takes another step closer so she stands side by side with Bernadetta. “And I will do the same.”

Bernadetta stares at her in absolute awe. “But, Lady Edelgard, you can’t do that.”

“Why not? I am prepared to do whatever is needed of me, and if that includes staying by your side, then I am up for the task.”

Bernadetta busies herself with worrying her hands in uncertainty, but Edelgard sees Byleth giving her the slightest smile of approval out of the corner of her eye. It flickers away quickly, but Edelgard promises herself it wasn’t a trick of her imagination. 

“I, um, I still don’t know…” Bernadetta says. 

“If anything does happen,” Byleth says. “Or you think something might happen, call for me or Edelgard,” and Edelgard knows she sees the smile for sure this time. “We will both come running.”

Edelgard ends up spending a few more moments reassuring Bernadetta and walking her to her room. As soon as she manages to get a promise from her that she will leave her room to join them at dinner, Edelgard closes the door and feels a shadow looming over her. 

It’s familiar but feels just different enough from Hubert’s presence that Edelgard is on edge when she turns to greet Jeritza. He nods at her and tilts his head towards the rarely occupied hall up to the second floor of rooms.

She returns his gesture silently, gives one more call to Bernadetta, and follows him into the darkened hall.

Behind a pillar, Jeritza casts about them again for any would be eavesdroppers before reaching into his coat and producing a blue folder to hold out to her.

Edelgard raises any eyebrow but takes it with little hesitation. She flips it open. The plan for the Blue Lion’s mission that month stares back at her. She turns the pages and finds nothing particularly out of the ordinary and no notes other than those that must be in Seteth and Manuela’s hand. The entire thing—a simple trip to stop bandits pestering merchant routes—seems utterly mundane, and the strangest fact about it is its place in Edelgard’s hands. 

She’s about to stare up at Jeritza in bewilderment when he asks, “Is that all for now?”

He meets her confusion with his usual composure. “What are you talking about?” she whispers. “Why did you steal this?”

He tilts his head. “You ordered me to.”

“No, I didn’t,” she hisses. 

Then it’s Jeritza’s turn to express his puzzlement. “We met the night after the mock battle and you requested I bring you the mission plan for the Blue Lions as soon as it was distributed.”

Edelgard runs over his words a few more times in her head before it clicks together. She lowers her voice even further. “We… did you meet with the Flame Emperor that night?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In the usual place,” he answers. “Though I will meet in the sealed forest next time, as requested.”

Edelgard takes a deep breath. “Jeritza, I have something to tell you.”

In the time she’s known him, Jeritza has never been an expressive man, and apart from a few stumbling words as he processed the information, he takes the news with his usual stoicism. “I see,” he says after a moment. “I will not attend the next meeting then.”

“No,” Edelgard says. “Go and report back to me everything they say. This might be a chance to figure out what my uncle’s planning. We’ll simply have to be a little more careful.”

“Consider it done. However,” his eyes dart down to the folder. “Should I return this to them?”

Edelgard hesitates for a moment. “No. I will review it with Hubert to see if it holds anymore clues to whatever they are planning. Now, when you met, did they give any clues about their identity or make any other requests?”

“Yes,” Jeritza says. “Unfortunately, I do not think retrieving the letter I was asked to deliver to Jeralt Eisner will be possible. And before you ask, I had no interests in its content and did not open it.”

Edelgard bites her lip. “I see. I will do what I can for that. In the meantime, continue as previously instructed and let me the results of your next meeting with the imposter.”

Jeritza nods and vows that he will before slipping back into the darkness. Edelgard sprints up to Hubert’s room and manages to contain her panic until he lets her in.

They dissect every piece of parchment for clues and hidden writing and even more hidden motives at every spare moment, and Edelgard finds herself deeply regretting the lack of attention she paid to Jeralt and his increased presence around Byleth.

And she could nearly tear her hair out in frustration when she is forced to halt her investigation at the month’s end to follow her class on the road to the Red Canyon. More details of their mission leaked—apparently some of Kostas’s group had managed to scatter before the Flame Emperor could deliver the same greeting to them that they had to their boss. 

In her scattered thoughts, Edelgard notes as she dismounts from her horse that the Red Canyon is vast and not particularly red. The Knights of Seiros pause to help them, and promise they will be just a shout away in case things take a turn for the worst. For the most part, they will be on their own, and Edelgard looks at Bernadetta trembling in her boots and winces when she thinks just how far away her mind has been in the past weeks.

She’s killed before, but this feels different. With the exception of Hubert, who has wreaked even more death than she has, all of her classmates clutch their weapons like lifelines, and Dorothea and Linhardt with only their magic are left nothing but their hands to fiddle with.

Byleth makes another vow she will protect them but that she also believes that she will not have to, and somewhere between the pieces of herself, Edelgard finds that she can believe that, too.

Byleth still moves them at a crawl as they venture over the first bridge. There are no bandits in sight and no sounds of shifting gravel crunching under boots. Petra whispers, “are we being ambushed?”

Byleth hesitates at the suggestion and tightens her grip on her sword. “Stay close together.”

Bernadetta takes that as her opportunity to attach herself to the side of Edelgard that Hubert currently isn’t occupying, and Edelgard offers her as encouraging of a smile as she can. Bernadetta still looks near tears. A glance back shows Dorothea is holding on to one of Petra’s arms while she readies her sword to protect them both and Linhardt has an alertness about him she never imagined he was capable of possessing. Suddenly, this whole situation makes Edelgard feel sick to her stomach. She still holds out a hand for Bernadetta to take that she eagerly accepts.

They still find nothing, and Edelgard can see Byleth’s posture grower tenser and tenser with each passing yard of emptiness. Everything is warped in absolute silence until Hubert stops dead in his tracks. “Wait,” he says, voice echoing through the canyon. He looks out at the winding ruins and begins to walk forward away from the group.

Byleth rushes after him, her sword held ready in one hand and her other tugging on the arm of her student not even attempting to be stealthy. Edelgard watches their middle tussle as Hubert attempts to shake her off and keep moving that persists until Byleth stops moving as well at the edge of a cliff.

The others are staring in confusion, looking to her for guidance. Edelgard takes a deep breath, and says, “Only way forward.”

They move as one behind her until they reach where Byleth and Hubert are gazing of into the distance. The thick smell of copper reaches Edelgard before she peers over the cliff to see the pile of bodies below them for herself.

Dorothea gasps, “What is…”

Linhardt takes one look before backing away and stumbling to the ground. Beside her, Edelgard hears Bernadetta squeak, then press herself even further into Edelgard’s side.

Hubert is the only one to speak clearly in the moment. “I thought I smelled blood.”

“Hubert,” Byleth says. “Go alert the knights. Take Ferdinand with you in case any survivors are nearby.”

Hubert doesn’t waste the time to scowl at the direction, and Ferdinand says only his confirmation before the two run off. Their absence gives Edelgard even more time to take in the scene before her.

Caspar edges closer to the steep drop below and asks, “is there a way to get down there?”

“I am thinking so,” Petra says. She’s on her knees, perched at the very edge to get as good a look as possible. “Look there—that is the remains of their camp. They must have been staying there before their attack.”

Edelgard narrows her eyes and follows where she points to a small clearing of bushes. She has no idea how Petra knows that, but the longer she looks, the more carefully she is able to make out brown packs and tents against brown dirt.

“But what is most strange,” Petra says, attracting Edelgard’s attention once again. “Is that.”

Petra points, and off in the distance is a red smear against one of the pillars. It’s far enough away from the pile of bodies that Edelgard reasons it must be something other than the predictable outcome of a bloody fight.

From this distance, she can’t make out any details. “I think we should investigate further,” Edelgard says. “My teacher, the Knights of Seiros will know to look for us down there if we find the path before them. I see no reason not to go on ahead.”

For the first time since she threw herself in front of that bandit, Byleth does not hesitate when she answers. “Let’s go. Our mission has changed, but we must still complete it.”

With Petra leading the way, finding the precarious path downwards is accomplished in seconds. 

The tremor in her voice betrays her fraying nerves as Dorothea says, “Well, at least we didn’t have to kill anyone yet.”

Like Bernadetta, Linhardt isn’t even bothering to pretend he is doing well and has opted to press his face to the top of Caspar’s head as soon as they’re off the crumbling trail so he won’t even have to catch sight of a corpse again.

They pause beside the bodies, and Petra crouches to inspect one with the professor. “I am not having expertise,” she says. “But they look freshly killed to me. Do you have agreement, Professor?”

Byleth nods.

“Wait—what?” Bernadetta stammers. “Does that mean whoever did this is still nearby?”

Caspar brandishes a gauntlet. “Then we’ll just have to be ready to fight them, too.”

Edelgard has her doubts about how well that would go for their barely trained, divided group, and she turns to Byleth for guidance. Byleth is turned towards the pillar Petra had pointed to and moves towards it without a word.

Edelgard goes after her, the Black Eagles following behind dutifully, so they can all stare in confusion at once.

“Is it… one of those Crest symbols?” Byleth asks, tilting her head at the strange but very familiar pattern scrawled in dried blood. It’s muted from the dust caked into it, but the splash of red is a burning beacon in the depths of the canyon. 

“Yes,” Edelgard says. “It’s… that’s the Crest of Flames.”

The Knights of Seiros arrive to secure the area, and when they return to Garreg Mach, Byleth is whisked far away from her haunted students.

The knights’ report must have deeply unsettled Rhea, and Byleth admits quietly she isn’t sure what has happened either in the brief moment she gets with them that night before being pulled back into more meetings. The normally brash knight, Catherine, lets them know a curfew will be enforced, patrols will be doubled, and anything that can make it harder for Edelgard to secretly meet with Jeritza will be implemented.

Edelgard pushes the thought out of her mind as long as it takes to help escort Bernadetta back to her room before her terror causes her to collapse. She lingers outside of Bernadetta’s room and thinks that she should do more for her classmates. Instead, she slips as quietly as she can across the monastery to Jeritza’s office. 

Hubert is already there when she arrives and says nothing when she beings to drum her fingers on his desk. Even though they’re expecting him, both Edelgard and Hubert jolt at the sound of keys twisting in the lock as Jeritza enters.

He wastes no time with greetings, a trait Edelgard never thought she would appreciate so much. “They did not seem troubled nor did they mention that I never delivered Professor Manuela’s mission to them,” he says. “I have also been given another mission they expect me to complete tonight.”

“Let’s hear it then,” Edelgard says. “Based on what it is, it might be best to go along with it for now.”

Jeritza nods. “I will do as ordered.”

“And we appreciate that,” Hubert says. “Now out with it.”

If he’s offended by Hubert’s brusque tone, he doesn’t show it. “I have been instructed to kidnap and deliver one of the students at the monastery to them tonight,” he says. “I was also given explicit orders not to harm him in anyway.”

The silence over the room feels thick, and Edelgard is glad Hubert is ready to ask the question, “which student?” for her.

“Ashe Ubert of the Blue Lions class,” Jeritza says. “I was told no more than that. Your orders, Lady Edelgard?”

The advice she had given all of them only seconds ago feels like a sharp sting in her chest. “They… want a specific student.”

Hubert brings a hand to his chin, seeming just a touch tenser as well, though Edelgard is aware she is likely the only person to notice such a change. “Ashe Ubert is a commoner and does not bear a Crest. This… does not make sense with Lord Arundel’s plans.”

Edelgard doesn’t see the correlation either, but she can hardly think on that with the chill creeping down her spine. She doesn’t know the student in question—Ashe was a mousy boy who deferred respect to Dimitri and had landed a wooden arrow in her shoulder during the mock battle. She knew nothing more than that only that he has a face and a soft voice she had heard rise out from the Blue Lions’ table on occasion. Blood from a person and not from the idea of a person.

Hubert clears his throat and the silence choking them as well. “If we do not comply then we may thwart whatever this imposter is planning. However, we will also comprise Jeritza’s potential to gain further information. And that is ignoring that they must be growing suspicious already after their first task was never completed. In my opinion, at this point in time it would be best to follow their instruction to continue to learn as much as we can.”

Edelgard considers the cold logic, her fleeting memories of Ashe’s face, and the path she planned out before her. Her throat feels dry as she reminds herself she can’t trip over one loose brick on a path she has barely started to walk. She swallows and lets the chill she had felt overtake her. 

Jeritza is passively waiting for an answer, and she turns to him and gives the order.

“Do as they ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to a few comments from the last chapter, this fic will have Edelgard as a major character, though as this chapter also shows, she, and every other main character, is going to be multifaceted and have lots of room for growth. I've also decided to add the "morally ambiguous character" tag just to help make that a little clearer! I personally adore deeply flawed characters which is probably also why I'm so drawn to her in general, haha. Anyway thank you for reading!


	4. The Empress

_They didn’t bother to hitch the horses. They took their packs, and let them go to do as they pleased. _

_He watched them mill in the overgrown grass rather than run free. She wandered the cobblestone path and placed her hands on the rusted iron gate. He took his time, but she did not move a muscle until he rejoined her._

_The wind and ice cold metal bit at her fingers through her gloves, and she knew she would have been bothered by it if she hadn’t lost feeling in her hands so long ago. _

_“You waited for me,” he said._

_“Yes.”_

_“There was no need. I understand the circumstances well enough to know…” He placed a hand over one of hers. “You’re freezing.”_

_“Yes.”_

_He sighed. “Go on ahead. I’ll prepare a fire—”_

_“No.”_

_“This is—”_

_“I need you with me.”_

_He shuffled. The wind blew. She walked off, and he followed._

-

Rhea sits at the front of the table with a rigidly straight back throughout the entire meeting. As soon as Byleth set foot back in Garreg Mach after the mission, she was escorted away from her students and to the meeting room where she remained hostage until late into the night. 

Everyone Byleth knew who had some authority was there—Hanneman and Manuela, the Knights of Seiros including her father, and Seteth, always at Rhea’s side. At her own side, Sothis hums, “At least they are all as tense and confused as we are. I feel too often we are the odd one out in not knowing what is going on.” 

During one of the few breaks Rhea allowed them with a sharp pinch to her expression, Byleth had turned to Hanneman to ask a question that she got the feeling she should have been told the answer to long ago. “What is the Crest of Flames?”

For once, Manuela didn’t roll her eyes when Hanneman was asked to speak on his favored subject. Instead, her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and she asked Byleth, “You have never heard of the Crest of Flames? My, what has Jeralt been teaching you?”

“Nothing about Crests,” Byleth answered. 

“I am starting to suspect there may be a reason for that,” Sothis said. “There is so much excitement about them and the church—surely your father had a reason for keeping you in the dark.”

Her father had been behaving strangely ever since they arrived at Garreg Mach. Byleth knew her father to be brash, gruff, and proud of how much presence his space took up. But ever since Rhea laid eyes on them, he had a cautious edge that was new to Byleth. It reminded her of the way he would act when prepping for battle with new, young mercenaries. He’d go through the regular tasks—strapping on his arm, polishing his sword, barking orders—but with stiff shoulders and more purpose in his normally casual gait. 

But with Rhea, he was different still. Smaller, somehow. And he hovered near her in a way he hadn’t since she was a child entering a new city, her tiny hand clasped in his. 

For the first time, too, Byleth had a strange but innate sense that she could not go to her father for answers. She had never been a curious child—the enthusiasm to ask about anything that interested her faded before the words come form on her tongue—but Jeralt had made a point to describe things he saw her vacant blue eyes catch on. Stars all have names and are meant to guide the way for explorers, the sea is huge but full of fish and make sure not to go out on it alone, that mercenary man drinks all day because he has too much on his mind while the man next to him is just a drunkard idiot.

Now, Jeralt had been pulled aside by Rhea, and Byleth was able to listen to a story she had never heard before about a man called Nemesis. 

-

More guard patrols and each professor would have a rotation to scour the grounds for students not obeying curfew. Byleth understood the basics and her roll, but at the meeting’s end Rhea calls out, “Would you stay a few moments.”

Sothis murmurs, “That did not sound like a question. Best do as she says.”

Jeralt hovers near her and places a hand on her shoulder. He lowers his voice beside her ear, “Shout if you need me,” and then lower still, “and remember what I said about Rhea.”

Byleth nods. He gives her a pat on the back, casts an eye at Rhea and Seteth beside her, and walks out with the others.

When the doors click shut, Rhea gestures to the seat next to her not taken up by Seteth. “If you will.”

Byleth does as instructed, and Seteth takes that as his cue to begin. “We understand you will need to speak to your students about what they witnessed. The other students will receive a more general statement, but yours are likely to have more questions.”

Rhea places one of her hands over Byleth’s folded on the table. “It is regretful that you have joined us only to face such a tumultuous occasion. However, rest assured, Garreg Mach is the best place for you now. I vow I will keep you safe.”

There is an intensity behind Rhea’s eyes, and Byleth is vaguely aware there is something wrong with what she was just told, but the feeling fades before she can interrogate it any further. 

Seteth clears his throat. “And we will also ensure you are given all the resources to keep your students safe. I know what it is like to want to protect someone from horrors such as this, myself.”

Rhea doesn’t bother to acknowledge him, and her grip on Byleth’s hands tightens. “You are our first priority. Whoever this is masquerading about, trying to scare us—they will not hurt you. I swear I will not allow them to step on foot on these sacred grounds, and they will face the full wrath of the Church of Seiros and the goddess, herself, if they try.”

“I think we should get out of here,” Sothis whispers. “This Rhea—right now she is the one scaring me.”

Byleth doesn’t feel afraid. She feels the same as whenever the strange entity plaguing her dreams with Sothis brushes up against her—a spike and then nothing. But if Sothis wishes to leave, Byleth sees no reason to force her to stay.

“Okay,” Byleth says.

Seteth looks bewildered at her dull response and says to Rhea, “Perhaps we should let the professor rest now. After witnessing what they have—”

“Seteth,” Rhea says without turning to him. “There is more I wish to say. Why do you not go see to Flayn? I know you must worry for her.”

Seteth frowns, but even Byleth is able to recognize the dismissal. “I…” he sighs. “Yes, Lady Rhea.”

Rhea doesn’t bother waiting for him to exit the room like she had the others. “Byleth, all of the Church of Seiros—all of Fodlan—needs your help now. Please, look inside of yourself and pull from the power I know is there. The goddess is always with us, all around us, and we need you to listen to her more than ever. Promise me that when she speaks to you, you will listen and come tell me what she has to say.”

“Quickly,” Sothis says. “Say yes so we can make our escape.”

“Yes.”

Rhea smiles, but with the fire in her eyes, it seems so distant from the motherly temperament Byleth remembers from their first meetings. “I am so glad to hear that, and I know the goddess will speak to you soon. We will simply need to be patient for a little while longer, but then she will deliver us to peace and sanctuary. She will not let another horror happen—the goddess will save us if you listen for her.”

“Go!” Sothis says.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Rhea releases her. “Now Seteth was right. You must be awfully tired. I will ensure things at the monastery stay as normal as possible so as not to disrupt our students, and in the morning I will give you your new assignment for the month.” She nods her head. “Sleep well.”

At Sothis’s insistence, Byleth gets up from the table and makes her way to the door where Seteth is lingering. They make eye contact, and he seems to be on the verge of saying something to her before walking away.

“How very strange this all is,” Sothis says. “And after that, I am not sure who frightens me more—this person trying to imitate Nemesis or Rhea, herself.”

Byleth shrugs. She has little thought on the matter other than that slaughtering an entire cabal of bandits seems like more cause for worry than being slightly off putting. 

Sothis laughs. “Even you managed to recognize that her behavior was unsettling. I think we can agree that that is a testament to its salience. Though I must agree that murder and painting with a corpse’s blood is more cause for alarm than being creepy. And I suppose that is all we can say on the matter until the morning.”

In the morning, Byleth does not receive her mission for the month. Instead, a knight approaches her and Hanneman eating breakfast with their respective houses and lets them know an emergency meeting has been called. 

This time, Rhea is not the one beside herself. Hanneman notices first. “Manuela!” he calls, rushing over to where she is doubled over in a chair, surrounded by the other knights called to the meeting. “Are you alright? What has happened?”

Byleth makes her own slow approach. Manuela does not appear physically injured, but she is pale and there is a shake to her hands. 

Seteth manages to be stone-faced as usual, but Byleth notices his usual steadfastness is missing. “This morning,” he says slowly. “Professor Manuela noticed one of her students was not at breakfast. When she and some of her students went to go check on him, they discovered—”

“The lock was broken,” Manuela says, speaking for herself despite the tremor in her voice. “Someone broke their way in to kidnap him.”

“What?” Hanneman gasps.

He, Byleth, and all the assembled knights turn to Seteth for an answer. He straightens his shoulders. “We are going to organize search parties and scour the area first before declaring a state of emergency. However, our current fear is one of our students has been kidnapped by an unknown perpetrator.”

They go through the basics. The student in question, Ashe Ubert who Byleth thinks she can recall as having a freckled face and generally pleasant demeanor during their brief introduction to one another, was not reported to have missed curfew or been behaving strangely in any way on his mission earlier that day.

Manuela takes affront to that question. “If you are implying he was somehow complicit in this, Seteth, I will not—”

“We are merely examining all possibilities for his own safety.”

“Then stop wasting time with this damn meeting and send the search parties!”

Seteth relents at her fury. The search parties are organized and sent out. Byleth is given a statement to relay to her students. 

“If you see Ashe or any suspicious people,” she says, reading aloud from the notes Seteth jotted down for her. “Please report to the nearest professor or knight.” She thinks. “Or Seteth if he is also nearby. Do not attempt to approach suspicious people on your own. Do not spread rumors. Do not—”

“Professor!” Caspar says, rising from his desk. “I don’t care about what we can’t do! If I see the guy who took Ashe, I’m going to fight him—it’s stupid to pretend we’d have time to go find a knight.”

“Though I think we should have some caution,” Edelgard says. “I do agree with Caspar. Whoever this is managed to slip by the extra guard patrols last night. It’s doubtful they would stick around long enough for one of us to fetch and return with a knight if they are spotted.”

“Exactly!” Caspar shouts. “And I’m not gonna be told to just sit around when on of my friends is in danger. I say we form a search party ourselves and look in places the knights won’t.”

Byleth thinks. She glances around at the students to measure their reactions. Bernadetta seems scared, but that’s normal. Caspar and Petra, too, but seem impassioned, as do Ferdinand and Dorothea to a lesser degree. Hubert has his regular cool expression, but the one who catches her attention, as always, is Edelgard. She stares straight at Byleth, giving off the same intensity she did when preparing to lead her classmates into that first battle against the bandits. She’s ready to go to war.

Byleth looks away from Edelgard and to her notes. “My plan for today was to discuss difficult battlefield terrain.”

Edelgard finishes her thought. “And it would be awfully practical to get a real demonstration in the woods outside the monastery, my teacher.”

Alois catches the group heading out. He glances between Byleth and her students, and Caspar delivers a few more words about how they have to help the search. Alois glances behind him as if Seteth would be hiding in bush, ready to jump out at anyone breaking the rules, before announcing that he will allow it on the condition that he is allowed to tag along for safety.

“I remember the good old days when I was a young squire,” he says with a chuckle. “It’s important to be cautious, but you are right, Byleth. These kids have spirit and a need for justice that we can’t just ignore.”

Byleth decides she likes Alois. He’s loud and makes jokes that he laughs at when she only blinks in response. She understands that he’s trying to be funny, and when she told Alois a few weeks ago that she had never laughed before, he declared that, first, she must be joking and, second, he would vow to change that.

But what Byleth thinks she likes most of all about Alois is that Bernadetta seems to like him. As soon as they started on their journey to the woods surrounding Garreg Mach, she jumped behind him and mentioned that Edelgard had insisted she always have a buddy on the battlefield. Alois agreed heartily and added that that was wise advice. 

Byleth’s chest feels strangely light at overhearing the exchange, and Sothis gasps. “Oh truly a miracle has come to pass—you are smiling!”

Byleth blinks and reaches up to touch at the corners of her mouth to find them turned up at the corners. “I knew it was not a joke when you said you have never laughed,” Sothis says, leaning in close to inspect her face. “But this is remarkable. You really are that unaccustomed to smiling.”

There’s a melancholic lilt to Sothis’s voice that Byleth doesn’t know how to answer. She shrugs her shoulders and continues on.

They did run drills—how to aim and dodge behind trees, path finding when an enemy—or a slightly over enthusiastic Alois—is giving chase through difficult terrain. 

Caspar, predictably, takes to chasing through the woods immediately, though his feet snag on more than a few roots. Linhardt and Hubert run into their own problem of low hanging tree branches, which causes Dorothea to giggle and Edelgard to turn around so Hubert won’t see her laugh when he picks leaves out of his hair. 

Byleth decides that it would be best not to force Bernadetta through a simulation of someone chasing her down to do her harm, and instead places a bow in her hands to train her aiming through the trees. 

“I must say,” Ferdinand says at her side—likely taking a break from thrusting and having to pull his practice lance out of trees when Edelgard twists out of the way. “This is truly a challenge—aiming when you can hardly see your target.”

“It’s hard to see in battle,” Byleth answers. “And worse in a battle in a forest.”

Bernadetta’s arrow collides with a distant tree trunk. “Oh, thank goodness,” she breathes out.

“Were you aiming for that tree?” Ferdinand asks. “I do have to admit that is quite a distance, but I do not see what is unique about that—”

“She was supposed to hit the crow on the branch,” Byleth says.

“I-I know,” Bernadetta says, clutching her bow. “But I thought about hitting that poor bird, and—oh, Professor, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a soldier.”

Byleth thinks on the matter. She approaches Bernadetta and gently takes the bow in her own hands. Sothis floats in front of her, pointing up at a mourning dove resting on a tree a few yards away. “That would be good practice, would it not?”

Byleth aims and lets the arrow fly through Sothis’s head. “Hey! I may be incorporeal, but—”

“Oh, Professor, you missed,” Ferdinand says.

“I didn’t,” Byleth replies. “I hit exactly what I meant to.”

Sothis fumes.

“I don’t get it…” Bernadetta says. “Is this, um, supposed to be a metaphor about being a good soldier and how it’s actually really easy if you know the right trick?”

Byleth tilts her head up to the dove. “Yes and no.”

“I think I understand,” Ferdinand says, puffing out his chest. “This was all a demonstration. A true warrior knows when it is best and necessary to do harm, and if your instincts tell you a life should be spared, you should listen to them. A true noble avoids violence when they can.”

“Oh… okay,” Bernadetta says. “I think I get it.”

“I would hope not.” They turn to greet Hubert standing behind them with a sneer. “That was all impractical foolishness.”

Ferdinand glares. “No, it is wise. You do not truly believe one should always—”

“Do not twist my words,” Hubert says, rolling his eyes. “I simply cannot stand your platitudes and terrible advice.”

Byleth frowns. She had thought she was doing a rather good job.

“Serves you right!” Sothis snaps.

“Do you know what is worse than being incompetent or being cruel?” Hubert asks. “Being indecisive. It will cause your allies and enemies alike more pain, and that is exactly what you are advising Bernadetta to do.”

“I think you are the one purposefully make misconstructions,” Ferdinand says. “The professor was advising us to follow our instincts—the exact opposite of being indecisive.”

He narrows his eyes in response. Byleth feels Bernadetta lightly pressing on her back as she hides behind her. “Your instincts will tell you to take the easy route every time. Run, save yourself, aim for the leg not the heart of the person trying to kill you because you can’t bring yourself to spill blood. And when you question those instincts because your training has told you to, you will be indecisive and die.”

Ferdinand opens his mouth, but Byleth cuts them off. “Hubert.”

They both turn to her. “Professor?” he sneers.

“I appreciate your input,” she says, nodding her head. “I will use it in tomorrow’s lesson.”

Ferdinand gapes at her. “Professor, you cannot be serious.”

Hubert looks just as aghast. Byleth shrugs. “Sometimes I’m wrong.”

“I-I mean, yes, Hubert is correct only in the strictest sense that it is good to be decisive and have a code to follow, ideally a noble code, but he is wrong to—”

“Is something going on over here?” Edelgard asks, staring quizzically at all four of them.

Bernadetta ducks further behind Byleth. “No,” Byleth says. “Hubert was just giving Bernadetta advice.”

Edelgard raises an eyebrow and looks between the two. “Really now.”

“It,” Hubert says. “This is all really nothing, Lady Edelgard. Let us continue training.”

Edelgard looks to Byleth for confirmation, and Byleth is sure to give her a nod. She remembers the way her mouth felt when she saw the way Bernadetta lit up when she saw Alois and tries to twist her face into the same expression. From Sothis’s reaction, she knows she isn’t doing a very good job, but Edelgard gives her a crooked smile back.

They also devote time to tracking.

Petra proves to be the expert Byleth was expecting. 

“Some signs are being obvious,” she says, placing her hand against a tree trunk. “This tree we did practice against—you can see the scrapes from swords and arrows if you be looking closely.”

“Which would normally mean a fight took place here,” Edelgard says. 

“Exactly,” Petra says, leaning down. “You can also see the ground has been flattened—er, trampled from our running. If you can be finding footprints that is best, but you can also follow disturbed underbrush if none are being visible.”

Ferdinand takes the moment to lean down as well and pick up a broken twig. “Like this, Petra?”

“Yes, that is a very good sign. Also,” she frowns. “I am being less good at this, but magic can give off certain signs as well. There is… a certain smell or feeling that lingers after magic has been used.”

“I can corroborate that,” Hubert says. “A magic fire and a normal fire are very different in nature, not to mention all the… peculiarities dark magic leaves in its wake.”

Bernadetta hides behind Dorothea, who pats her shoulder. “That’s true, but there’s really no need to say it like that, Hubie.”

“Ah,” Alois says. “I remember a time when I was an apprentice and was sent to go find Jeralt when he wandered away from camp. I followed the smell of whisky for nearly a mile, and it’s the same with magic! Just sniff for where the air feels thick or thin.”

“Air cannot be thick or thin,” Petra frowns. “It does not possess fat.”

“He means—” Dorothea pauses. “Actually that is rather hard to describe. It’s sort of like places where the air feels… different, I guess? Like you can’t breathe right.”

“That’s terrifying!” Bernadetta squeaks, further cowering into Dorothea.

“All magic causes distortions,” Linhardt says. “Including healing, which is why it’s important for me to rest frequently.”

Caspar rolls his eyes. “Yeah, nice try, Lin. Even I can see through that one.”

“For what it’s worth, he’s not completely lying,” Dorothea says. “The part about all magic having minor effects is true. But usually only advanced spells like warp magic have effects that are strong or lasting enough for you to notice.”

“I have understanding of that,” Petra says. “Just… difficulty detecting it. I possess little exposure to magic of that kind.”

Byleth nods. Jeralt turned away anyone claiming to be a holy man, but he would accept the occasional mage or two to join their group. Byleth remembers the strange scent of fire burning without fuel and the way her hair would stand on end whenever the air crackled with thunder, even if only for seconds. But all she really knew is that it would make her shiver and the air shimmer and quake like it would over a campfire after a spell. Any more nuance than that was lost on her.

Edelgard must have noticed her reaction. “My teacher, do you remember the night we first met? Everything felt a bit off after our attacked teleported away.”

Byleth thinks the oddities of whatever spell were used were unmatched by her queasiness at turning back time. Still, she says, “Yes.”

“Edelgard,” Ferdinand says. “It has been sometime since you last mentioned that incident. Do you think whoever was behind it is also responsible for the kidnapping?”

She purses her lips. “I saw them for half a minute at most, Ferdinand. I could hardly discern anything about their motives in that time.”

“Hard to believe I’m saying this,” Linhardt says. “But it’s not a dumb question. A mysterious person appears, mysterious things happen. It’s not strange to assume—any idiot could reach that conclusion.”

Ferdinand frowns, unsure if he’s being insulted or not. Hubert takes the moment to answer. “The small time frame of these events may warrant investigation, but even if they are connected, what would we do with that information?”

“We could begin figuring out what they are wanting,” Petra says. “Or prepare ourselves against their strength. Edelgard, any details you are having may be of the utmost import.”

Edelgard’s lips press into a thin line, and her eyes are staring far away. 

“My,” Sothis says. “She always seems so strong, but I suppose it makes sense to be continually shaken when recalling a brush with death.”

Byleth answers for her. “They wore all black besides a red and white mask,” she says. “And they were very strong and very fast.”

Edelgard looks up to her, swallowing whatever lump in her throat must have been preventing her from speaking. “That is true. They clashed swords with Jeralt before disappearing. One of us would be nothing to them, which is why…” she clears her throat and stands up straighter, addressing all of her classmates. “I order that under no circumstances should you attempt to seek them out on your own. I would also under to run, but I doubt you would make it far.”

There is a hushed silence over the group.

“Does that mean,” Caspar asks, fists clenched and shaking at his sides, “that if they are the one who took Ashe, he—”

“I think it would be best to stop the conversation here, folks,” Alois says. “We need to make it back to Garreg Mach before sundown if we want to avoid a talking to or three from Seteth.”

He attempts a small chuckle at his pun but doesn’t push it when everyone else seems too dead-eyed and shaken for humor. Byleth and Alois are still on the other end of a lecture from Seteth, though he promises he won’t tell the archbishop to spare her stress.

“And that,” Seteth sighs. “Is the last thing she needs right now.”

Byleth’s dreams are empty that night. Just her and Sothis wandering through an abandoned castle this time. 

They travel. Sothis skips and turns over stones and rubble that catches her attention. Byleth is content to watch her and her delight at having a tangible body. There is little of interest in this specific dream, and the only thing that draws Byleth’s focus is near the dream’s very end, she starts to feel unbearably hot as if someone set invisible flames to the incorporeal castle. 

She wakes, sweating profusely, and only has time to bathe and dress before she is called again to Rhea’s side.

-

The Western Church is rebelling. They’ve announced that Rhea is false, and they are the true children of the goddess. 

For some reason, Rhea seems relaxed when she gives the news. “There have been suspicious reports about the Western Church for sometime now,” she says. “It seems our mysterious enemy was simply biding their time before revealing themselves with this minor rebelling.”

“I must admit, as strange as it sounds, that this is good news,” Seteth adds. “The lord leading the current charge is a man called Lord Lonato. He is also the adopted father of the student who went missing. We will continue to investigate, but for the time being, it seems logical that Lonato simply had his men retrieve his son before going to battle against Garreg Mach. We obviously would never take a child hostage, but it appears they have decided to assume the worst of us.”

“They have taken leave of all their senses and pointed their blades at the heavens,” Rhea says. “Little can be done for them now other than granting them divine judgment.”

In light of the turn of events, all three houses will go out on recon missions in the area with a trained knight at their side in the event that any trouble finds them. 

A woman called Catherine appears and looks Byleth up and down from head to toe. She has a sword that looks to be made of bone at her side. She smirks, and the Black Eagles head out to the marshes. 

Byleth isn’t sure what to think of Catherine. Sothis floats around her, observing her from all sides. “She certainly sounds sure of herself,” she says. “If at least half that confidence carries over to skill in battle, then she will be a powerful ally. Though overconfidence can always be an insidious killer.”

Byleth thinks to Sothis that she’ll be on her guard, which seems to assure her based on how she goes back to drifting at her side.

Some of the students certainly seem to be enthralled with Catherine. Caspar and Linhardt, to Byleth’s surprise, pester her with questions through their entire journey, some of which she answers but many of which she brushes off. Once on their trip, Linhardt must have been getting too close to her sword for her liking, and Catherine delivers a sharp chop to one of his hands. The action puts Byleth on edge, and her hand involuntarily strays towards her sword. Whatever feeling passes and it would be a surprise if Linhardt came away with nothing more than a bruise, but Byleth decides to stray a bit closer to the trio.

“Feeling protective of your students, are we?” Sothis asks. 

Byleth doesn’t quiet understand the smirk Sothis is wearing and simply nods her head at the question.

Edelgard and Hubert notably stay in the back of the group as far away from Catherine as possible. Byleth spends much of their glancing back towards the two, trying to piece together whatever must be going on behind Edelgard’s eyes until the fog rolls in and she becomes impossible to see.

Catherine raises a hand. “Stay close everyone,” she says. “We’re nearly there and this fog isn’t going to make our job any easier. We’re not here to fight, but there could be forces from the Western Church nearby. They know the terrain better than us, and this weather is asking for an ambush.”

Byleth considers her words, turning them slowly over in her head. “Would they kill a group of students?”

“Not sure, but with the fog, I doubt most of them will know who they’re attacking until they’ve already stabbed them,” Catherine says. “Also these kids may be your students, but they are soldiers, too. And that’s how even an enemy that can see them is going to think of them.” She takes a moment to look over Byleth, assessing something she can only guess at. “It’d do you well to start thinking that way.”

Catherine walks away, and Byleth thinks she should feel something—upset? Offended?—whatever it is, it’s gone and she keeps walking. Beside her, Caspar seems just as confused and mumbles to Linhardt, “What is she talking about? We haven’t even seen real combat yet. I mean, I want to be a solider, but—” 

“You don’t,” Linhardt says. “And don’t worry about it.”

Caspar groans. “You only say that when you don’t want to bother explaining something to me.”

“Correct.”

They continue on, and Catherine hands Byleth a torch once the fog begins to grow even thicker. “A little beacon so your students will know where to flock if they lose your way.”

They still stumble through the empty wooded marsh. After a mile of walking, Byleth feels sluggish and her arm aches from holding her torch so far above her head. 

Petra jogs a few steps to reach her side. “Professor, I may just be having feelings of paranoid, but are you feeling strange?”

Byleth thinks. As a child she would walk miles and miles alongside her father’s mercenaries, her short legs doing three strides for every one of theirs. The swampy ground does stick to her boots but not enough to explain the heaviness in all her limbs. “I do.”

Petra frowns. “I am thinking it is, ah, on my mind because we had a discussion about it so recently, but if you are feeling it, too—do you think this fog is being magic?”

Byleth didn’t know such a thing as magic fog existed. She’s about to say as much when the light of her torch falls upon a person—a shabbily dressed soldier—standing a few feet away. 

Byleth blinks at the person. They jump to attention. They turn back and shout into the fog, “We found them! Prepare for combat! We have found Thunder Catherine and the Knights of Seiros just as the new prophet predicted!”

The dart back into the thick blankets of mist, and by the time Byleth whips her head towards Catherine, she is already in a battle stance with her sword drawn. “Everyone!” she shouts. “Prepare for combat!”

There is barely time—as soon as Byleth secures her quickly dying torch and pulls out her sword, an arrow flies through their group.

With the fog, the only warning she gets of attack is the sound of rushing footsteps or a burst of magic cutting through the air. 

A swordsman charges from behind them, aiming for Linhardt’s neck, nearly reaching his target before Caspar jumps at his middle, tackling him to the ground. 

To the side, Dorothea screams and sends out a bolt of lighting more as a reaction than an attack at a brawler—their spiked gauntlets inches from her face. 

And up ahead, barely in sight, Edelgard is engaged in combat with someone Byleth can’t even see. All she can hear is her shout for someone to stay close and protect Bernadetta while she tries to shoot. Byleth thinks she hears Ferdinand shout back in confirmation, but then she sees a flash of steel appear behind Hubert, and she acts without thinking.

Something pierces her chest. She gasps. Sothis lets out a chiding sigh. “There are other ways to protect your students than throwing yourself on their attacker’s blade.”

There’s a pulse. This time Byleth charges before she sees the blade emerge, and her sword catches her opponent’s in a parry with ease. Hubert lets out a choked noise of surprise at her protection, but Byleth has little to focus on that. As soon as she removes her sword from the man’s chest, she catches sight of Dorothea, shaking and staring at the charred corpse of the man who had tried to kill her and the shimmer of magic before a spell snaking towards her. 

Even with Sothis’s help, the battle is pure panic as Byleth frantically puts out one fire after the next as her students kill civilians soldiers in their first battle. But she manages to keep up—shouting for Linhardt to heal Ferdinand while she finishes off an enemy Caspar can’t seem to hit even as her thoughts stray to Petra who she hasn’t seen in the past minute, which could mean she’s hiding or just slightly farther away or dead or—

Edelgard screams. “Run! Everyone—right now! Run!”

Byleth follows the order—she runs towards Edelgard. Towards Edelgard and a figure dressed all in black with a white mask, standing amidst the fog with a strange glowing blue sword drawn.

Then Byleth yells the same thing, and all the relief she felt at seeing her students close together changes into relief at seeing them scatter. Only Hubert defies her, running to Edelgard’s side and letting loose a miasma in the figure’s direction. It makes contact but seems to scatter with no effect when it hits their form.

Byleth places herself in front of both Edelgard and Hubert even as she knows full well her blows would likely have the same effect. 

But the figure does not charge them. Byleth is about to tell Edelgard and Hubert to take the chance to run when a strange, distorted voice beings to speak to them. “Where is—there.”

Byleth hears Catherine’s battle cry before she sees her leaping form, but the masked figure raises their sword with ease to clash against hers. 

Catherine gives another swipe, another parry, and dodges one of the figure’s own thrusts. She jumps back a few more paces and snarls. “What the hell do you think you’re doing with that blade?”

Byleth’s attention again draws to it—oddly curving and radiating blue light. Like with Catherine’s odd sword, there’s a round, carved stone ingrained in it near the handle. 

“Trying to overthrow Lady Rhea and stealing her sword,” Catherine readies Thunderbrand again. “The goddess will carve out a fine place for you to rot after I’m finished with you.”

“You,” they respond. “Are truly a slave to her.”

There’s another clash of steel, and Byleth realizes she’s witnessing what may as well be a clash between titans. She turns to Edelgard and Hubert behind her and whispers, “We’re running.”

Neither of them protests. 

-

Bernadetta never thought she would miss having other people around. It’s claustrophobic in the fog, enclosing and encasing her, but not in the comforting way that the walls of her room would. On the few occasions she glimpses shadows moving through the thick white sheets, she isn’t sure if she should run toward them or away, especially when she hears the sounds of battle. 

But the fighting sounds like it’s all around her. It’s coming this way and that, and if she runs the wrong way she could run into a sword or be mistaken for an enemy and struck down with fire.

The thought makes her whimper, and she holds her bow closer to her as she slowly creeps her way through the field. Bernadetta is also very aware how poor a choice of weapon a bow is if she does run into an enemy. They’ll be right in front of her, and the only thing a bow will do is block the first blow while she screams for help that won’t find her in the fog. 

It all seems near hopeless, and to keep herself from crying from the panic, she meekly calls out, “Lady Edelgard… Professor Byleth… Anyone, please…” 

There’s no answer, and the terror is so crushing, she can’t bring herself to raise her voice any louder. Still, she tries, “Dorothea—Petra… Caspar, I know I said not to before but if you could please, please, please yell really loud… Oh,” she lost whatever battle she was waging to hold back the tears of fright. “Even—even Hubert, please—I’m sorry I called you scary before. If you could come rescue me, I promise I will never call you scary ever again, so please…”

Bernadetta looks up from wiping at her tears to see a swish of darkness in the fog. It takes a second for her to understand that she’s not looking at the usual shadow. Instead, it’s dark cloth—a robbed figure is standing before her with their back turned.

Panic strikes hard and fast. No one in their group would be wearing anything like that. She lets out the squeak of terror before she can stop herself but is quick on the draw to raise her bow as the figure turns around.

The person before her is tall, and their robes fall long over their body, draping all the way to the dew soaked ground. Covering their face is a bright white mask with streaks of red. 

Bernadetta makes the connection to the person Byleth had described in the woods all at once. Her heart thumps so loudly in her ears she can barely hear herself shout, “Stay back!” as she notches an arrow. “If—If you come a step closer, I-I’ll shoot!”

Every part of her is screaming that she’s going to die, and that this masked person who made Edelgard shake in fear is going to tear her limb from limb with their foreboding presence alone. Bernadetta is fully expecting them to not heed her warning, and she isn’t sure how to respond when the figure stays rooted in place.

“Um!” she shouts, taking a step back. The figure does not attempt to follow. “Thank you for not killing me! I—I’ll just be on my way then!”

“Bernadetta!” a familiar voice shouts from behind her. 

She whirls around to see Ferdinand charging through the fog towards her, his lance at the ready. “Oh thank goodness,” she heaves a sigh of relief. Then she remembers the figure. “Wait! Ferdinand, be careful!”

“Of course I will be!” he shouts back. “A noble must always—”

The words die when he reaches her, and his eyes lock onto the still figure. Ferdinand wastes no time taking a step closer, putting himself firmly between Bernadetta and whoever the mysterious figure is. He readies his lance. “I have heard tale of you, and I will have you know I have taken it up as my noble duty to protect all of my classmates. You will retreat.”

Bernadetta does feel a little better having Ferdinand there, but she can see from the stiffness of his shoulders and the sweat beading down his neck that he’s probably scared, too. From behind him, she can also see that the shoulder of his uniform has torn and there’s a dark spot of blood trailing down his arm. 

“Ferdinand,” she says. “You’re hurt.”

“Just a minor wound,” he dismisses, but the more Bernadetta looks, the more she notices how his grip is favoring his other, non-dominant hand. “It will not interfere with any combat I may need to—I said to stay back!”

Bernadetta’s head snaps up, and she sees the figure take slow, deliberate steps towards them. Their attacker is approaching. Ferdinand is hurt. She acts before she can think—her bow is at the ready and she lets the arrow fly for their heart in one fluid motion.

It flies true, but at her release, the figure raises their hand, and as the arrow approaches it disintegrates in the air, evaporating into darkness. They don’t stop in their gait as if her attack was simply a fly they were swatting away.

Bernadetta thinks her heart stops. Ferdinand charges forward, thrusting his spear just like in training, but the figure waves their hand again. Ferdinand thankfully doesn’t vanish, but he’s pushed to the ground by some sort of magic pulse. The spear falls not far but out of his grip, and the figure takes the moment Ferdinand spends shaking the blow off to place their foot on it. 

Bernadetta screams and dashes to Ferdinand’s side. She holds up her bow, praying that it can take one blow of magic as well and squeezes her eyes shut. If she’s going to be atomized by dark magic, she’d prefer not to see it coming.

There’s pressure on the bow—a hand pushing it down. Gently pushing it down. Bernadetta dares to crack an eye open and nearly faints in fright. The figure is kneeling next to her, the blank white eyes of the mask boring into her. 

The bow slips from her grip, and the figure turns from her to Ferdinand. He scrambles back, trying to pull her with him, but there’s little purchase he can gain on the wet, mud slicked field. 

The figure hovers their hand just above his shoulder, and Bernadetta stares open mouthed as white magic pours out of them, mending the wound shut.

Ferdinand is equally dumbstruck, watching in awe as the figure reaches into a heavy black bag Bernadetta realizes must have blended in with their robes in the fog. From it, they pull an unlit torch and place it on the ground in front of them before rising back to their full height.

The figure vanishes. 

Neither of them say a word until Ferdinand gropes through the grass—missing it on first try due to his fumbling hands—for the torch. His voice is high-pitched and taut with shock when he first speaks, “We can—” and he has to clear his throat to try again. “We can find our way back to the others now, and—”

Bernadetta faints.

-

If Byleth looks back, she can still see shocks of blue and white scratching through the fog, illuminating the area with ancient power, far behind her comprehension. But she doesn’t bother. She isn’t quite sure what direction they’re running in or where they are headed, but Edelgard and Hubert are still both behind her and that’s currently the only thing that matters.

Occasionally other soldiers peak their heads or blades out of the fog, and they engage and cut them down only briefly in their rush towards the vague direction of safety.

After a few moments and more ground gained, the clashing of swords begins to fade. “My teacher,” Edelgard says between ragged breaths. “What do we do now?”

“Find the others,” Byleth says. “Let Catherine fight them.”

“Agreed,” Hubert says. “There would be little hope of survival if the crossfire were to stray our way.”

Edelgard still has her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. There are splotches of blood and dirt alike on her uniform and round face, but she still wants to fight their tormentor. Byleth says to her, “your safety is my first priority. We find the others, then go back for Catherine.”

Edelgard looks up to her with her pale eyes.

She doesn’t respond, but a call of “Professor!” manages to cut through the building tension. Petra jumps down from a tree, only startling them slightly. “Professor, I have much gratitude in finding you! Please, be following me—I think I have discovery of the enemy’s commander.”

They waste no time in following, and Byleth is once again amazed by Petra and how she manages to weave her way through the fog as if it were a clear path.

Up ahead, the fog feels thinner, and Byleth can make out two familiar forms—Caspar and Dorothea—hiding behind a few trees Petra leads them to. Caspar gasps at their approach, but Dorothea quickly shushes him and points outwards into a small clearing. 

A large armored man Byleth assumes is Lonato is speaking to the mysterious figure, though whatever they are saying is beyond Byleth’s hearing. “Edie,” Dorothea whispers. “Is that the person who attacked you before?”

Edelgard nods. “Yes. They must have finished their fight with Catherine and passed us in the fog.”

Byleth thinks on it and has to admit that she probably didn’t lead her students in a straight line but more of an awkward zigzag. 

Before she can ruminate further, Lonato cusps a hand around his mouth and shouts, “Pull back! We have delivered our message!”

There is movement, and Byleth quickly urges for her students to crouch down even further in their cramped hiding spot. Soldiers appear from the woods, many looking haggard and bloody. Byleth starts to mentally tally how many she sees until she notices one dragging a slumped figure over their shoulder. 

It’s only thanks to Petra’s quick movements of placing a hand over Caspar’s mouth and pulling him back that he doesn’t give away their position when Linhardt’s body is thrown to the ground. 

The soldier reports, “This one surrendered. Thought we could take him back to the base—”

“No,” the masked figure hisses with the same strange distortions. “Leave him.”

“Do as they say,” Lonato says. “Their judgment has not led us astray yet.”

The soldier does not protest, and once the remains of the army are grouped together, the masked figure raises their arm. They all disappear with the fog.

Caspar yanks himself free from Petra’s grip and charges over to Linhardt’s unconscious form. Byleth is quick on his heals, as is Edelgard, already rustling through her pockets for a vulnerary. 

There’s still a line of dried blood creeping down his forehead, but Linhardt awakens, feeling for the now closed wound. He grimaces when his hand comes away with blood and looks like he might faint again from how pale he turns. Caspar doesn’t give him much time to recover, already jumping on him for a hug.

Byleth lets out a sigh of relief.

Linhardt is still dazed, but he manages to mumble, “I told them I wasn’t going to fight, and then…”

“Assholes,” Dorothea says. “But at least you’re okay, Lin. Now we just have to worry about Bern and Ferdie.”

Edelgard frowns. “Hopefully they’re together. I promised Bernadetta I wouldn’t let her be alone when we went to battle. Caspar,” she turns to the two of them. “Can you carry Linhardt? I want to start looking for them as soon as possible.”

“Sure thing.” Linhardt doesn’t protest either and loops his arms around Caspar’s neck as he’s picked up. “I won’t be able to fight like this, though,” Caspar warns.

“Our enemy said they were retreating and had no reason to assume we were watching them,” Hubert says. “There may be a few lingering, but we can assume they have dispersed to meager numbers by now.”

“And I will be scouting for danger,” Petra says.

Byleth doesn’t really like the idea of one of her students running out of her sight again, but Petra has proven herself well enough that she doesn’t say a word as she runs a few paces ahead.

Without the fog, Petra still stays insight, and after walking for a few minutes, they all see her drop to her knees a few dozen yards away to inspect something. Byleth makes the decision to jog ahead when she doesn’t seem to be showing any signs of moving. Edelgard gives a short command to Hubert to approach more slowly with the others at their own pace as she matches step with Byleth.

They find Petra rummaging through her own things for another vulnerary, and beside her, Catherine is hunched on the ground, breathing heavy and clutching her arm. Byleth had felt the briefest touches of horror at seeing Linhardt’s injury. She thinks the emotion might have actually broken through if he had been in half of Catherine’s condition. 

“Damn…” she breathes. “Damn coward… n-nearly taking my arm off, but one—one hit sends them running. Damn… Vanished before I could—could finish them off.”

“I used my last vulnerary in battle,” Petra says. “Professor, what are we to be doing?”

Byleth doesn’t have an answer.

Edelgard gives her one. She calls over her shoulder, “Dorothea, come here.”

She jogs over to them and gasps in horror. “What—”

“Linhardt’s still out of it,” Edelgard says. “But you can heal her, right? I know you’ve been practicing.”

“I-I have,” she says. “But faith doesn’t come easily to me like it does Lin. I’m still not very—”

“Try,” Edelgard says.

Dorothea does. She kneels, squeezes her eyes shut and tiny white bursts of white magic peter in and out from her hands. Byleth kneels next to her and watches as just enough of the deep wound nearly cleaving Catherine’s arm off sews back together. Dorothea pulls away, sweat sticking to her forehead and gasping for her breath before it finishes completely.

Catherine’s still a bleeding mess, but she’s not bleeding out any longer. Petra helps Dorothea to her feet as Byleth lends a hand to Catherine. As Catherine leans on her, she realizes the soldiers that had been accompanying her are no where to be seen, and the ground is bloodied from more than just Catherine. Her stomach lurches when she thinks of how Ferdinand and Bernadetta are still missing.

Catherine’s breathing heavily, and a glance down reveals that while her arm was the worst wound, it was not her only. There’s a thick haze hovering over her body from the dispersal of magic that makes her feel slightly warmer than normal, and Dorothea looks thoroughly drained from the release of magical energy. 

The others reach them, and as a group they limp back to the approximate location of where the trail they wandered off is. 

Once they make it there, Byleth orders them to stop. “Edelgard, take Catherine and the others back to camp. I will continue to search for Bernadetta and Ferdinand.”

Edelgard looks conflicted at her words, a protest bubbling out of her that is cut off when Petra once again spies something they don’t. “We are having no need—look, Professor!”

Ferdinand seems to be in a similar state to the rest of them—noticeably frazzled and carrying someone on his back. Byleth quickly turns to Hubert to shift Catherine to him before running to meet Ferdinand. 

“Oh thank the goddess,” he says when he spots her. “I was near certain you had left without us and after surviving the strangest encounter that has ever occurred, too. It was so startling poor Bernadetta fainted.”

Byleth can believe that, but she still glances around him to Bernadetta on his back to confirm his statement. As always, Edelgard made the decision to walk alongside her, and she asks, “What do you mean?” as Byleth looks both of her last students over her injury. 

“That masked person—they must have chased Bernadetta down after we scattered.”

“No, you must be mistaken,” Edelgard says. “They attacked Catherine.”

Ferdinand frowns. “Edelgard, I think you are confused. When I caught up to Bernadetta, she was bravely facing off against this mysterious person by herself. Catherine was nowhere nearby.”

“They nearly took one of Catherine’s arms off,” Edelgard says.

“We have proof,” Byleth adds.

Ferdinand glances behind them, grimacing at Catherine’s bloody visage. “I see she was in a great battle, but I promise you that I am not lying. This person—they approached me and Bernadetta and…” his frown deepens. “And then they healed a wound on my shoulder I gained from the previous fight before warping away.”

Byleth glances at a tear in his uniform’s shoulder and feels the slightest distortion of lingering healing magic clinging to it. 

His words make no sense, but Byleth knows that among her students, Ferdinand would be one of the last to lie and he is staring at them with such palpable confusion as Edelgard again insists he is wrong.

Sothis pieces it together before her. “This person wearing a mask,” she says. “How difficult would it be to obtain two masks and sets of dark clothes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3-5k chapters on Saturdays and Sundays I promised myself, posting a 9k chapter on a Wednesday, haha. Anyway hope you enjoyed!


	5. The Emperor

_The monastery loomed on the hill, and they saw it far off in the distance, miles before they could reach out and touch its ancient walls. She wanted to jump from her horse’s saddle as soon as she saw the speck of it through the forest and run the rest of the way to reunite with the memories laid inside._

_But her companion was too sensible and too used to watching after her now. “We should reach it before sunrise,” he said. “But it would be wise to hunt before we leave the woods.”_

_“We should pass the plains before daylight.”_

_“We should, but we also should not subject ourselves to starvation.”_

_She relented. They stayed in the woods through the day, and she watched the sunrise and set on her home through the trees. _

_He gathered their supplies._

_“I don’t know how you can stand the wait,” she said._

_“It wears on me,” he said. “But we have been planning this for so long. The anticipation I can bear, but the chance of failure…”_

_“Hunger will not fell me.”_

_He stopped in his ministrations and stared straight into her inhuman eyes. “We thought many things would never fell us, and now we scrounge for rabbits in the woods. I learned my lesson—I do not doubt my, yours, or anyone’s mortality.”_

_The sunset streaked around her, bathing the fringes of her hair orange and her face pitch black. “That won’t matter soon.”_

_He didn’t respond._

_“I’ll get your life back,” she said._

_He finished repacking their last bag, and they crossed the plains when the sun dipped behind the hills._

-

Edelgard paces back and forth within the small space her room allows her. “I suppose it’s not a surprise that all of the other copies of the Flame Emperor’s disguise are still accounted for, given that they somehow managed to already get one copy.”

“Given everything else we discovered,” Hubert says. “I would have to agree. At the very least, we now know the purpose of their request to Jeritza.”

She nods. “Yes. They knew Lonato would rebel and brought his adopted son to him in order to gain entrance into his army. However, that leaves the question of how they knew he would rebel.”

Hubert sighs and crosses his arms. “I hesitate to call this good news, but it appears that the imposter ingratiating themselves with the Western Church has finally drawn Thales’s attention, especially given our plans this month.”

“Have this agent’s discovered anything?”

He pauses. “This will sound strange, but do you remember when we first made contact with Lonato’s forces? A soldier shouted that a prophet had told them of our location.”

“I remember,” Edelgard says, furrowing her brow. “I assumed it was just the mutterings of a fanatic, but I take it that is how the imposter is presenting themselves?”

“And their presentation is proving successful,” Hubert says. “Supposedly they claimed that the true goddess had sent them to aid the Western Church’s cause and then…”

He trails off. “Hubert, go on,” she says. “There is little that can surprise me now.”

“I know, however the information is so preposterous I have difficulty believing it myself.” He clears his throat. “But the current report is that upon their arrival, they returned Lonato’s son to him to ‘free the boy from the clutches of the false church.’ And then… they proved they had been blessed with the goddess’s power by predicting the future and reading minds.”

Edelgard stops in her pacing. “Excuse me?”

Hubert shakes his head. “I would normally dismiss such claims, but our own agents have reported the church’s investigation has produced similar results.”

“Are they any dark spells that can accomplish such feats?”

“If there are I have not heard of them,” he says. “But I shall begin research in that area.”

“Good. At the very least, honing our own skills can only better our chances if we every encounter this ‘prophet’ again. So additionally,” Edelgard turns to him. “I would like you to joy Dorothea in learning faith magic.”

Hubert’s expression drops, not quite to a scowl but something close to it. “You… would?”

Edelgard sighs. She had been expecting resistance but held onto the hope that his usual loyalty would prevail. “I spoke with Professor Byleth after the battle. Encountering a situation where Linhardt was incapacitated proved how badly battle could turn if we do not have additional healers. Dorothea was hesitant but she agreed to start studying. However…”

“We both know there may come a day where neither Dorothea nor Linhardt will lend us aid,” he says. Hubert still seems unhappy with the decision but he nods his head in concession to her point. “Very well. Tell the professor I will join Dorothea in her study.”

Edelgard smiles. 

Dorothea had approached her after the battle as well, her arms crossed over herself in a protective hug and her eyes drawn to the floor as she confessed how frightened she was when Edelgard ordered her to heal Catherine. “It’s not that I don’t believe in the goddess, but more that… I don’t have faith in her,” Dorothea had said. “I know Lin doesn’t really either, but I guess he’s able to draw faith from something else. I just know that it comes to him in a way it doesn’t for me.”

“I never knew that,” Edelgard said after a moment. “You always love singing the hymns during required congregations, so I supposed I just assumed.”

“I do love the hymns,” Dorothea said. “They bring me comfort, but the goddess doesn’t. I just don’t believe that the goddess will help me, no matter how hard I ask. I know I shouldn’t say things like that, but—”

“No,” Edelgard said. “You shouldn’t be afraid to speak your mind, especially to me.”

Dorothea smiled then, if only for a second. “Thank you, Edie. I suppose that means I can say that it’s hard for me to describe how terrified I was when you asked me to heal Catherine. I was so sure that I wouldn’t be able to do it and that she was going to die, and that failure—her blood—would all be on my hands for not being strong enough.”

“Dorothea…”

“But I did have faith in you, Edie. That’s why I tried anyway, and I guess it was enough.”

“Dorothea, I am sorry for asking so much of you, but you are stronger than you think you are,” Edelgard said. “I can’t promise I will never ask that of you again, but I can promise that you will be prepared and that you will have the support you need.”

Dorothea’s heartfelt thanks may have been slightly more subdued if she had known that the support Edelgard had been referring to was going to be Hubert. 

-

At the very least, Byleth appreciates having a name to call their mysterious assailant. The second masked figure remains nameless, but a woman with a dark demeanor, Shamir, tells the assembled staff that her spies have reported the masked man is known as the Prophet of the Western Church.

“Your agents must not be very good,” Catherine says. “This ‘prophet’ person is a woman.”

Catherine’s confined to the infirmary on Manuela’s strict orders, but her account of her battle is important enough that Seteth acquiesced in changing their meeting’s location to accommodate her. Shamir’s placed herself at Catherine’s beside, and her expression manages to remain completely neutral at her gruff remark. “How do you know?”

“You can only fight so well in a heavy cloak,” she says. “Once I grazed her, she knew to take things seriously and threw it off. She was fully armored, but I could tell she was definitely female.”

“So our suspect is a woman bearing the Crest of Seiros,” Hanneman says. “Given time and the proper tools, I could potentially create a more portable Crest revealing device, which could aid in our search.”

“I am doubtful that will be necessary,” Seteth says. “Despite both Catherine and Byleth’s reports, I assure you the Sword of Seiros you saw was a fake. The real blade has not left the archbishop’s possession.”

There’s a touch of conflict to Rhea’s face that does not line up with Seteth’s words. “It is quite disturbing that they would go so far in their delusions to craft a fake blade.”

“Lady Rhea,” Catherine says. “With all due respect, I know that blade was real. At full might, Thunderbrand can tear through regular steel, and their weapon didn’t give an inch our whole fight.”

“I do believe your words, and that you know them to be true,” Rhea says. “We will launch an investigation further into the matter for anyone capable of crafting such mimicry. However, we do know it to be a fake. There is no reason to assume this heretic bares the Crest of Saint Seiros.”

“I do suppose that is all true,” Hanneman says, crossing his arms. “However I do have to wonder what the message behind their attack was—Professor,” he turns to Byleth. “You did say in their retreat that Lonato said they ‘delivered their message,’ yes?”

Byleth nods. 

“Hmm, curious and curiouser, wouldn’t you say, Captain?” Alois asks, turning to Jeralt. 

Byleth glances to her father. He has his arms crossed and is a back corner of the room, and once again Byleth is struck by how little space her father seems to be taking up. “Not really,” he says. “Their message was likely the attack itself. They’re here and they’re going to challenge the Central Church.”

“That is our assumption as well,” Seteth says. “As such we have increased security, particularly with the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth at the end of the month.”

“The Rite of Rebirth,” Sothis says. “Things cannot be reborn, god or no. Ask them for more details, but be subtle—this sounds like something we should already be familiar with.”

“What’s the Rite of Rebirth?” Byleth asks.

Sothis sighs. Rhea looks at Byleth, her eyes flickering with a calm delight. “It is a sacred ceremony where pilgrims from all over Fodlan gather to Garreg Mach to pay their respects to the goddess. It is the one time a year where the Holy Mausoleum holding Saint Seiros’s remains is opened, and it is one of the church’s most holy congregations. Even with this disturbance, I would hesitate to postpone the gathering.”

“You won’t have to, Lady Rhea,” Catherine says. “I’ll be up and out of this bed and ready to finish off this false prophet with one strike the next time I see her.”

“You nearly died in your last battle with them,” Shamir deadpans. 

“And you will only be getting out of this bed when you are good and ready,” Manuela says. “You are Dorothea was there. Even with her magic if you had lost any more blood, I don’t know what we would have done. There’s only so much magic can do once you bleed out that much.”

Catherine waves a hand. “You’re both exaggerating.”

“We’re not,” Shamir says. “You looked like death.”

“Anyway,” Alois clears his throat. “Seteth, Lady Rhea—I presume we Knights of Seiros will be on patrol for the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth. Don’t worry! With the captain back with us, we’ll handle this no sweat!”

Jeralt brings a hand to his forehead with a groan. 

Seteth says, “That is our hope. Professors, due to the extra security we will require, you and your students will also assist the knight in their patrols. Any questions?”

“Yes,” Manuela says, her face growing troubled. “My student, Ashe, have there been any reports on his safety?”

“He was sighted at Lonato’s manner,” Shamir says. “However, after the attack, the place has become a military base of the Western Church. Reports have been limited, but we can assume the situation hasn’t changed.”

Manuela sighs, leaning forward in her chair to rest her arms on her legs, looking half collapsed. “I’m not sure if that’s good news or not. At least he is safe for the time being.”

“Look how he’s hesitating,” Sothis says, pointing to Seteth. Byleth turns her head to see Seteth wearing a rather pinched expression. “If the child has sided with his father, the church will execute him, will they not?”

Byleth frowns. Rhea and Catherine had both waxed on about punishing those who defy the church, but she never considered the logic of extending that punishment to a former student. “I hadn’t either till now,” Sothis says. “But from the way he is responding, we are likely correct in assuming the child will hang with his father if they are captured.”

Sothis’s quick turnabout to frantic shushing when Byleth begins to debate asking Seteth outright what the fate of their missing student will be is interrupted by a second question from Hanneman. 

“I know our conversation has drifted,” he says. “But if we are asking questions, I would once again like to mention my theory on the Crest of Seiros. After all, even if the Sword of Seiros Catherine saw was a fake, this prophet was still getting some message across by using it. The sword signals the work of the Crest of Seiros at play—there is little other reason to imitate that particular sword. I think an investigation of the Crest of Seiros—”

“Professor Hanneman,” Rhea says. “I understand your curiosity and respect your studies, but recall what Seteth said. There is no need to look further there. Our efforts will be spent better elsewhere.”

Hanneman frowns, but in her months at the monastery, Byleth has learned that when faced with a direct order from the archbishop, there is very little that can be done. “Very well,” he says.

Out of the corner of her eye, Byleth sees her father shift. She glances at him, but Rhea is speaking once again. “I believe that is everything for the time being. You are all dismissed.” 

Rhea exits the room, everyone besides Manuela, the still bedridden Catherine, and Shamir begin to shuffle out after her.

On Byleth’s own retreat, she feels her father place a hand on her shoulder. “Kid, mind meeting me in my office after your class? There’s something I think I need to tell you about.”

Byleth nods. “At least one person hiding something will finally reveal their secrets,” Sothis says. “I must admit that this mystery is intriguing, but I am beginning to become frustrated by the lack of answers.”

To Sothis’s further frustration, Byleth doesn’t think more on the questions hovering over Garreg Mach. Instead, she thinks of her classes and the plan for a magic lesson she never got to finish due to Seteth calling her to a meeting.

She thinks, _I’m terrible at magic._

-

Edelgard isn’t sure whether she appreciates or resents the normality reinforced upon them. Ever since her first days at the monastery, she could see the bubbling anger and frustration threatening to boil over in those around her. For all her flirting, Dorothea might as well be carrying around a sign declaring how the nobility is corrupt and ruined her life, to say nothing of how badly Bernadetta has been traumatized by her noble father claiming to know what’s best for her.

She sees it in the others, too. That boy, Sylvain, or the depressed girl, Marianne, who always walks around Garreg Mach with her eyes trained on the floor. And when Hubert did his background work on Jeritza before he joined them, Edelgard got to pour over the near endless cruelties committed against him and his family in the name of Crests. 

But Edelgard saw other things, too. The Flame Emperor is a thorn in her side for so many reasons, but after their last battle, she finds herself resenting them for taking away the gift of an easy first kill from her classmates. Bandits in an open field are one thing; civilian soldiers in the fog where you aren’t sure if your weapon will hit an enemy or ally is another.

As the hours of the day roll on, she sees Dorothea grimace less when preparing her magic and Linhardt only checks the fully closed wound on his forehead for blood once by the lecture’s last hour. 

Peace will do them good, she thinks. Before Hubert is forced to attend his faith magic session with Dorothea and Byleth, he slips an envelop sealed with the crest of House Arundel towards her. Not as much peace for her. 

She takes a moment to make herself a nice cup of tea and sit at her favorite table in Garreg Mach’s empty gardens before opening the letter, as if the comforts will ease the contents. 

Before tearing it open, Edelgard pauses and guesses. Likely vague threats of revoking support. Maybe blame for the false Flame Emperor’s actions? An attempt to leverage her into performing some dirty work for him also seems possible given it’s been a while since his last request. 

She tears the seal and sees that he gets right to the point. This is her fault for being careless and she needs to fix it—warp the situation entirely to use this to their advantage. The Flame Emperor identity that she had been so proud of will need to be scrapped altogether given its growing association with believers of the goddess. 

And he says he wants to give her more power, he really does. They have a plan to give her new power if she’ll just do a little more work to put their plans back in working order. 

Your goal is within our grasp, the letter says. This is the only chance—the only way. 

She just needs to help his forces break into the Holy Mausoleum.

Edelgard puts the letter down and pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“Hey princess. Strange seeing you alone.”

She glances up and sees Claude has helped himself to the empty seat at her table. He has his usual smirk, and she doesn’t think she quite has it in her today to pretend to tolerate him after her uncle’s letter. “Do you want something?”

“Can’t I just say hi to my favorite—”

“Claude.”

He keeps smirking at her, but there’s a new hardness behind his eyes. “Fine, you got me. I am here on serious business.”

Edelgard sighs, pocketing the letter and folding her arms. “I didn’t know you were capable of such things.”

“From time to time,” Claude says. “Though I think you are aware one of my very favorite things is staying alive, so I can knock off the happy-go-lucky guy act for a few minutes when my neck is on the line.”

She raises an eyebrow. Claude doesn’t stop smiling. “You’re in danger?”

“Someone who tried to kill us is on the loose and raising an army, so yeah,” he says. He helps himself to a cup of tea from her still half full pot. “I’d call that danger.”

Edelgard watches tightlipped. He takes his time, languid and casual as he pours and stirs his tea. “You’ve been investigating our attacker.”

“The Prophet of the Western Church,” he says. “Admittedly my information isn’t as good as yours—mostly relying on what I can trick the knights into letting slip. And Hilda’s great, but she doesn’t come with her own spy network like your lapdog.”

Edelgard bristles. “When begging for information, it’s usually best not to insult—”

“Right, right, I’m sorry.”

She glares.

“Super sorry?” Claude tries. “Also before you throw that cup of tea in my face, I do want to let you know this is less begging and more an exchange I’m offering.”

Edelgard glances down at her hand to realize how tightly she was holding onto her cup’s handle. She tries to hide her surprise, but from the look on Claude’s face, she knows she failed. She sighs and leans back in her chair instead. “How so?”

“I have a few insights,” he says. “One of my many talents is taking what I know and thinking about it from my enemy’s perspective. Too many folks here get caught up in their own heads that they forget to,” he gestures vaguely, “flip the chessboard or something. Think of what their opponent’s thinking.”

“You’re right that does sound insightful,” she says. “And like something I am perfectly capable of doing on my own with my allies. Thank you for your input, Claude.”

“Edelgard,” Claude says, the playful lilt finally dropping. “You know we should be allies, right? Once we graduate, we can’t afford to have petty squabbles like this. I want to be friends with my powerful neighbor, and it’d be less of a headache if you got along with your quirky one.”

“I am aware of that,” Edelgard says. “I just don’t appreciate playing games when—as you rightfully pointed out—our lives are in danger.”

“All the more reason to play games in my opinion,” he says. “If you keep them guessing about what you’re going to do and where you’re going to be, sending assassins becomes that much harder.”

She furrows her brow. “You suspect assassination?”

“No, actually,” Claude says. “They kidnapped Ashe without anyone noticing—if they wanted to slip an assassin into one of our rooms, they would have done it by now.”

He takes a sip of his tea. Edelgard crosses her arms. “Is that one of those clever insights you mentioned earlier?”

“One of many,” he says. “If you’ll give me a little help, that is. We’re on the same side here, so there’s no need to hide information, right?”

Edelgard frowns. With Claude, she’s never share how much he’s seeing through her and how much is him faking power like a true Alliance noble. “What do you want to know?” she asks.

He smiles and seemingly takes the moment to relax, though Edelgard keeps her investigatory gaze razor sharp. “You were the first one to see the prophet in the fog, right? What did they do when you made contact?”

Edelgard thinks back on the moment. The white rolls of fog seemingly parted by the blue glow from their sword, painting both the air and the white of their mask with its color. “They attacked Catherine.”

“Before that. Just you and them—face to face.”

“They…” the memory confuses her even as she remembers it with perfect clarity. “They did nothing until they saw Catherine. They saw me, Hubert, and Professor Byleth, and said…” She shakes her head. “I don’t recall the exact words, but they seemed to be looking for someone else.”

“Catherine,” Claude says. “I’ve managed to overhear a conversation or two from the guards that in the initial contact with Lonato’s forces, someone called out that their prophet told them Catherine would be there. They were after her.”

It makes more sense the more Edelgard thinks on it. “I see your point,” she says. “But how did they know Catherine was going to be there? Which knights are sent on which missions is secret.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Claude says. “Not to mention, I’m still in the dark on why they want Catherine dead. Second question,” he holds a hand up, “if you don’t mind.”

Edelgard finds her earlier irritation draining away in favor of her new curiosity. “Go ahead.”

“There are two of these guys running around with creepy masks,” Claude says. “Number two approached two of your classmates and didn’t stab them to death, right?”

“No,” she says. “Their report of the incident was… very strange. I assume most of it was from shock.”

In truth, Ferdinand spent quite a bit of time mentioning how brave Bernadetta was in facing off against the masked figure before bemoaning that their combined heroics amounted to low, and then finally growing confused when reporting the figure’s actions. When she awoke from her fainting spell, all Bernadetta could say on the matter was that it was terrifying. 

“I will admit, I did try going to our two witnesses first and got… poor results,” Claude says. “Which is why I’m here.”

“That’s not surprising,” Edelgard says, smiling just a little at the thought of Ferdinand and Bernadetta both rebuffing Claude in their unique ways. “The main point of their story is that they weren’t actually hurt. The person they encountered just gave them a torch and went on their way.”

“A completely normal torch? No secret carvings? Enchantments?”

“If there were, we didn’t check.”

“Damn,” he says. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter much. Point is, they could have been killed, but weren’t.”

“So you’re saying that this person isn’t actually after Garreg Mach students,” Edelgard says. “Is that it?”

Claude smiles. “I’m just saying, if I was an extremely strong enemy of the church and was alone with a few students, there has to be some reason why I’m not killing them.”

“And do you have theories about why this is so?”

“Still working on that part,” he says. “But I do have a feeling their next move will be… decisive. They’re building a base and have let the church no loud and clear they’re here and dangerous. I think the time for subtlety has passed.”

Edelgard turns his words over in his head alongside her uncle’s command at the end of the month. She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a long sip of tea.

“That’s all I have for now,” Claude says, standing up from his chair. “But I look forward to working together in the future. I don’t think this is something to handle alone, so don’t do anything reckless with my information, okay princess?”

He walks off. Edelgard buries her face in her hands.

-

Manuela has been pulled in three directions. Catherine’s a difficult patient, the seven remaining Blue Lions have grouped together—a general sense of fear and sadness hovering over them after Ashe’s disappearance—and require even more emotional support to complete lessons, and she has made it clear to Hanneman and Byleth in meetings between the three of them that, Seteth be damned, she’s going to launch her own efforts to recover her missing student. 

Byleth wouldn’t think of piling one more task upon that daunting pile. She practiced the basics of faith magic quietly in the back corner of the library—the elderly library sending her bemused but kind looks—until she started to feel dizzy. 

She was on the verge of giving up when a strange green haired girl she had seen once or twice before around the monastery approached her table. “You have been practicing for quite some time,” she said. “Are you in need of any assistance?”

Under the librarian’s watchful eye, the girl—Flayn, she said her name was—gently led Byleth down a more correct path for the basics. On the other side, she came out of the library, still vaguely dizzy, but confident enough that she could survive a lesson.

Her confidence lurches when she reaches the classroom she reserved and finds both Dorothea and Hubert inside. “Professor,” Dorothea says. “Did you hear the good news? Hubie’s going to be joining us.”

Byleth turns to meet his sour expression. “Welcome.”

Hubert doesn’t bother with a greeting of his own. “Before we begin, I must ask: do you have any idea what you are doing?”

“Hubie,” Dorothea says, lightly swatting his arm. “That’s rude.”

“It’s a necessary question,” he replies. “Unless you can recall a moment where our professor demonstrated any arcane proficiency.”

“Well,” Dorothea’s mouth twists into a frown. “I’m sure Professor Byleth has something prepared, right?”

“Yes,” Byleth says.

Hubert raises a dubious eyebrow. “Then the floor is yours, Professor.”

Flayn had told her confidence is key. Byleth wasn’t quite sure if it was confidence in herself, confidence that the spell would, or confidence in the goddess. Her odd mixture of the three does manage to produce a soft white light from her fingertips. It’s nothing spectacular, but it is a competent enough effort that Hubert doesn’t levy any more protests as she continues the lesson.

Summon the light, sustain it, increase its strength, and send it over far distances. Byleth is able to follow through on it roughly every other time, and Dorothea at least seems to appreciate not being alone in her struggling. 

It’s interesting watching her. Once the magic is in her hands, Dorothea can perform as well as Byleth’s last second teacher—the faith glows warm and heightens in controllable arcs across the room. The issue, Byleth realizes, is generating that first spark. Every time she tries, Dorothea seems convinced nothing will appear, and a sour vindication crosses her face on the times she’s proven right.

Hubert has the base mechanics down. He’s reliable, but the power is weak. Byleth can see him mending superficial wounds no problem, but anything deeper or more intense is likely to be beyond him. Byleth scribbles down her findings in her journal. Hubert attempts to peer at her writing, but only raises an eyebrow at her near illegible scrawl. 

“Hubie,” Dorothea says, pulling him out of his deciphering. “You don’t think much of the goddess, right? So what are you pulling your power from?”

He frowns at the question. “Why would you assume I am irreligious?”

Dorothea quirks a brow. “You’re really going to try to play dumb? At least Lin shows up to services for a nap. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you within ten feet of the cathedral.”

“I prefer privacy for prayer.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “Don’t tell me the truth. I think I know the answer anyway.” She turns to Byleth. “What about you professor? Where does your faith come from?”

Byleth isn’t quite sure. “Myself, I suppose.”

Dorothea laughs. “You are your own goddess. Well, I suppose there’s nothing wrong with that, though I’m not sure if that will work for me.”

“Why not?” Byleth questions.

Dorothea twists a piece of hair between her fingers, her gaze suddenly directed to Byleth’s side. “Oh no reason. Just thinking aloud.”

If Byleth had just meant Dorothea, she would likely accept the answer, but after months together, she could recognize the signs of discomfort pulling at face and body. “I don’t really understand magic,” Byleth says. “I don’t know what’s simple and what’s not.”

“At the very least, you are open about your ignorance,” Hubert says. “Not everyone considers such blasé candor a virtue, however.” 

Byleth doesn’t quite know what he means, but Dorothea answers him well enough to hide her mild confusion. “Stop giving her a hard time, Hubie. So what if she’s learning just like us? I wouldn’t go up to Professor Hanneman or Manuela and demand they teach me the finer points of heavy armor or pegasus care.”

Byleth doesn’t think she’d be much help in those fields, either. 

“And the fact that they can’t isn’t evidence of the academy’s poor management?” Hubert says. “I’m simply saying that the more you look, the more obvious it becomes that the powers that be at Garreg Mach are far more invested in other matters than our instruction.”

“Well, yes, I know that,” Dorothea says. “But that doesn’t mean you should take it out on Professor Byleth.”

“This is an interesting conversation,” Sothis whispers to her. “It seems even the students are aware of the complications we are privy to.”

“Is the academy badly run?” Byleth asks.

“Yes,” Hubert says at the same time Dorothea sighs.

“It’s complicated,” Dorothea says, shooting Hubert a glare. “Not that we blame you, of course, Professor. It’s just—think about how you were hired. The person who was going to be our teacher fled and left their students behind to be attacked by bandits. Not the best screening policy to train Fodlan’s finest, is it?”

“And then they hired you, a mercenary with no previous experience in many key skills, and give you no training before throwing you into a classroom,” Hubert adds. “Does that not seem like poor oversight to you?”

Byleth had had her doubts on her first experiences, but she had assumed that was normal. “Oh.”

“Again, Professor,” Dorothea says. “We know it’s not your fault.”

“But we are all stuck in this wonderfully frustrating situation together,” Hubert says.

Byleth looks between them, and her memories stray back to the battlefield. She had watched them fall, swords and spears hack into limbs only for Sothis’s grace to undo the horror. If she were a better teacher, she starts to think, if she could do more.

“How can we fix it?” Byleth asks.

“Fix… the situation?” Dorothea clarifies. 

“Yes,” Byleth says. “So I can be not… frustrating.”

Dorothea sends Hubert another dirty look while he brings a hand to his chin. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Dorothea said I’m learning, too. What do you want me to know?”

They both pause, seemingly in disbelief before Dorothea laughs. “Well, Hubert, I think I have to disagree with you—the professor’s bluntness is definitely one of her strong points. And if you really are asking, when I’m not busy puzzling over faith, I am interested in getting better at other magic.”

The session changes, then. Dorothea walks Byleth through the basics of minor enchantments and tricks of magic, and Hubert watches from his corner until he insistence their combine incompetence has forced his hand. 

Byleth only thinks to pull herself away when Sothis taps on her shoulder to remind her of her meeting with her father. 

She bids the two farewell and a reminder to return to their rooms before curfew. The day has just reached the brush of early evening, and she has to dodge around students heading towards the dining hall in drove to reach Jeralt’s office. 

He’s at his desk, writing away at something in a small brown book when she knocks on the door. “Ah, it’s just you,” he says, standing as she enters. “Close the door behind you. This is gonna be a bit of a private family meeting.”

Byleth nods and does as instructed, coming to sit in a second chair he pulled up behind his desk for her on the day the office became his.

“I take it you had a good day,” he says as she approaches. “I guess those noble brats are less of a headache than I predicted.”

“They taught me magic.”

He grins. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she says. “I can make small amounts of water, add distortion to sounds, and create mildly warm breezes.”

“Sounds like good stuff,” he says. “I have to admit, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”

Byleth reaches up to the corners of her mouth. She isn’t smiling—just normal. Jeralt laughs at the movement. “Alright, maybe you wouldn’t look happy to anyone else, but I know you too well. You’re starting to get pretty attached to those kids, aren’t you?”

She nods.

“That’s good,” he says. “That’s actually the number one reason I’ve kept us here. That and running from the Knights of Serios probably wouldn’t be as easy a second time around.”

Sothis hovers nearer. “He wants to escape?”

“You want to leave?” Byleth echoes.

“That’s kind of what I wanted to speak to you about.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I want you to make the choice because I know you’re so happy here. But I feel like there’s some things I need to tell you. You’ve probably been wondering them, too, since you’re starting to realize how much I shielded you from the church growing up.”

“I have wondered.”

Jeralt sighs. “Only makes that you would.” He shuffles through his pockets and produces a slightly dirty, folded envelop. “This was delivered to my desk a month after we arrived. I think you should take a look at it.”

He hands it over, and Byleth slips out the smudged, hastily written letter inside. It says:

_Rhea has ruined your daughter, but you can find the truth. Search the Holy Tomb for answers._

“No idea who sent it,” Jeralt says. “And setting foot in the Holy Tomb is a great way to set off a few dozen deadly traps, so I haven’t done that either.”

“Rhea has… ruined me?” Byleth asks.

“That’s what I thought I should tell you about,” he says. There’s a strange, faraway look in his eyes. It would seem he’s staring at her chest, but his gaze seems to go straight through her to somewhere deeper. “Your heart… Rhea’s the reason why your heart doesn’t beat. I don’t know what she did, and I think whoever sent this letter’s trying to bait me into finding out.”

Byleth places a hand over her heart. “Rhea?”

“Yes. She’s also the reason I’m…” he hesitates. “You know when that professor you work with—Hanneman—started talking about the Crest of Seiros and Rhea kept shutting him down? There’s a reason for that, too. Contrary to popular belief, people can be given Crests. Rhea gave me one. It’s why I’ve been around for as long as I have.”

Byleth recalls a drunk mention or two that he had stopped counting when he reached past a hundred, but she had never been sure how much truth was behind his words. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to. It’s a lot to take in,” Jeralt says. “I just wanted to let you know because… this prophet person? A stranger with a Crest of Seiros wielding a copy of her sword? I have a strong hunch about what they are—one of Rhea’s experiments.”

Byleth feels a sudden rush of fear and discomfort. It fades, but not as quickly as the emotions usually do. “Experiments?”

He shakes his head. “I wish I could tell you more, but I’m honestly just guessing here, too. All I know is that Rhea’s done something, and it’s come back to haunt her. And I don’t want you getting mixed up in that.”

Byleth frowns then looks to Sothis hovering behind him for guidance. “This is all… deeply troubling, and I only am able to comprehend half of it. Answer however you wish. I can support either outcome: staying and learning more or running away to save ourselves the danger.”

“If things are bad,” Byleth says. “Then I want to stay.”

She doesn’t elaborate, but from the slow smile that spills across Jeralt’s face, she doesn’t have. “You want to protect your students, huh? Well, I did say the decision is yours,” he reaches out and squeezes her shoulder. “You watch their backs and I’ll watch yours, got it?”

Byleth smiles. 

Then the world freezes. Her father’s hand on her shoulder feels heavy, but he is still. Byleth whips her gaze back to Sothis. “You—”

“I did not!” she exclaims. 

They’re pushed back. Jeralt is slowly starting to smile. “You want to protect your students, huh?” he says again. “Well, I did say the decision is yours.” His hand is on her shoulder. “You watch their backs and I’ll watch yours, got—”

He freezes. 

Sothis hovers nearer, a steady panic rising over her. “I-I am not controlling this. Something else is manipulating time.”

Byleth feels the pull of time she has finally become used to. Jeralt’s shaking his head. “And I won’t want you getting mixed up in that.” 

Byleth is still staring at Sothis, waiting for her to come up with an answer. “Hey, kid?” Jeralt says, leaning closer. “Something bothering you? You look… panicked.” He sounds in near shock as he says it, but time doesn’t allow Byleth a response. 

This time the world stops but for far longer than the few moments before the pulse back Byleth is accustomed to. “Can you freeze time?” she asks Sothis.

“I told you this is not my doing!”

“Then what is—”

“—mixed up in that.”

Byleth stares at her father with wide enough eyes that he rises from his chair and places a hand over hers trembling in her lap. “Byleth?” he asks.

Her emotions still. 

They go back one more time.

-

Curfew is ticking closer by, and Edelgard would prefer not to deal with the new guard patrols. But still, she paces the grounds of the academy. She already relayed their new objective to Hubert and dismissed him before he could look any closer at her fraying nerves. He politely mentioned with a touch of concern that she should rest. Edelgard does not think she could bear to leave the fresh, open air tonight.

She curses herself. Nearly every night when she felt the walls of the underground creep back up around her until her breath started to become quick and shallow, she vowed she was over such things.

Tonight, at the very least, she has a reason. Her uncle feels his close—his presence felt in every spy planted at the monastery watching and documenting her as much as they are supporting. At least if she paces in the dark, they’ll get bored of their watching or write a report that she’s gone mad. Maybe she could use that as an excuse when she inevitably fails to infiltrate one of Garreg Mach’s most sacred locations on the day when security is at its peak. 

Her thoughts are interrupted when Byleth comes stumbling out of the darkness cast by the monastery’s walls and out into the moon’s light. 

“Ah,” Edelgard says, turning at the sound of her boots crunching through the grass. “Good evening.” Byleth draws a few steps closer, and on further inspection, Edelgard notices she seems more strained somehow—her usual blank expression a bit tighter. “Are you alright, my teacher?”

Byleth blinks. “I’m… not sure.”

It’s not the answer she was expecting, and Edelgard’s thoughts of her own struggles begin to fade in light of Byleth’s haggard expression. “Has something happened?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” she replies in her usual terse manner. 

“I could still try to understand if you would to discuss it,” Edelgard says. “Though if you don’t, I understand as well.”

“You do?”

It’s a simple question, but for some reason it sends Edelgard off kilter. “I, well, yes. I have had certain… difficulties in my life that I prefer to keep secret.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize. You are hardly at fault, and I only mentioned it to show that I—well, I empathize.” She only realizes how strange the words are once they’re out of her mouth. 

Byleth pauses, seeming to turn the words over in her head. Or at least, that’s what Edelgard imagines she’s doing. Her quietness has been a thing of mystery for Edelgard. Hubert thinks she’s simply deceptively simple, and Edelgard can’t dismiss that out of hand. But there’s something more, she thinks, something lingering deeper but walled in.

“I think…” Byleth starts to say. “Something strange is going on. Stranger than… I don’t know.”

“Stranger how?” 

Byleth pauses. “I’m sorry for mentioning this to you. I think it’s just me. I need rest.”

“If you are sure,” Edelgard says. “Though, if you’ll allow me, I must say that I have seen the lengths you go to to protect me these past months. I would jump at the chance to return the favor, my teacher.”

“Thank you.” And her lips curve just a bit out of their normal thin line. “I should go to bed, and you should, too.” Then, as if it just occurred to her, “what are you doing out so late?”

Edelgard glances away to a particularly interesting shadow at Byleth’s side. “Just thinking. I appreciate the fresh air enough that it’s worth being scolded by a guard or two for missing curfew.”

“Really?” She tilts her head with genuine curiosity. 

“Yes,” Edelgard says. “I love landscapes and big open skies—things of that nature.”

And Byleth turns so they are side by side, staring up at the moon. “They make you feel freer.”

“Exactly,” Edelgard replies. “I think there are many things that could chain a person back, but looking out… it makes me think of the future instead.”

“I mostly just think of the moon.”

Edelgard glances at her. Byleth is still staring straight up at the moon, but her face seems to have calmed from its previous nervous state. “And what do you think of the moon?”

She shrugs. “It’s beautiful tonight. Everyone hears says the goddess lives in a star, but I think I still prefer the moon.”

Edelgard smiles. “I do as well.”

“Does the goddess actually come down from her star during the Rite of Rebirth?”

“No,” Edelgard says. “The church just likes to pretend she does. It’s a ceremony that simply reminds everyone the goddess is all around us or something like that.”

Byleth goes silent for a moment, seeming to soak in her words with the night air. “If the goddess was around,” she finally says. “What would she do?”

“I think that’s a question for a monk or nun,” Edelgard says. “But if you are asking me, then I have to say I don’t know. I’d hope she’d bring people comfort and set us on the path to a good future, but if she is real and simply insists on staying up on her star, then I don’t know if I can believe that. In the meantime, I think we have to do those things ourselves instead of waiting around for someone else to pull us out of the dark.”

“Are we in darkness?”

Edelgard hesitates. Fodlan is in a deep shadow cast by the church, but here, standing in the bright moonlight, she questions just how far that darkness truly extends. “Yes,” she says. “But I believe there is hope the future won’t be. At least, as long as we ensure that hope becomes a reality.”

Byleth finally turns to her, and in her usual flat, nonjudgmental tone she says, “You say that a lot. We have to make things happen ourselves.”

“I’m more impatient than I seem,” Edelgard smiles. “There’s nothing I can’t stand more than waiting and hesitating.”

“Being indecisive.”

“Yes. Not acting is a choice, as well. I think it’s always better to do something and risk the regret than wonder what could have been.”

Byleth nods. “I admire that. It’s a brave way to live.”

They watch the moon, and Edelgard returns to her room, breathless but in a good, different way than before.

-

The month passes. Little ticks and stutters in time happen on and off, and Byleth again feels something haunting her dreams. Nothing reaches out or tries to attack her or Sothis but she can feel something stalking her through the seams of the dream world. 

Byleth knows she’s worrying for father, too. After the third distortion in time, she figures out how to navigate the flickering of time without causing too much fuss, but the damage has already been done. He tells her to go to him first whenever Rhea calls for an audience with her, so he can be there as well. 

Classes and extra magic lessons continue, and Byleth comes to look forward to them more and more with each passing day. All her students are starting to bud into something resembling real soldiers, and she feels a new passing emotion—pride. 

And Edelgard is there, too. She is proper and composed most days, but every so often, Byleth can notice the same signs that something is gnawing at her that she sees on their now routine nightly run-ins. Byleth wonders if she should share with her the oddities she’s noticed, but Sothis reminds her they lack a vocabulary to explain what is going on to themselves. 

On weekends, they go out in the field. Bandits terrorizing villages and merchant routes are routine, but on occasion her class is tasked with tracking a Western Church scouting group. In all of their skirmishes, she looks for the prophet, but they are always absent. 

As the month draws to its end, Garreg Mach becomes awake with activity. “Preparations for the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth,” Sothis says. “It seems like such a hassle for a goddess who has not awoken in hundreds of years. Do they expect her to grace them with her presence if they have a few thousand more flowers ready for display?”

The day before the ceremony, Byleth relays Seteth’s mission orders to her students. “We are going to be extra guards.”

Edelgard is particularly on edge today, and her hand immediately rises into the air with Byleth’s words. “My teacher,” she says. “I know this may sound strange, but I have a request for something different we could do instead.”

“Instead of our assigned mission?” Ferdinand balks from his seat behind her.

“Only in the strictest sense,” she says. “We would still be on the lookout for intruders, just in a different place then wherever Seteth is planning on assigning us to watch over.”

“What place?” Petra asks. “Do you have knowledge that something is happening elsewhere?”

“Admittedly, it’s mostly a hunch,” Edelgard says. “I just… I have a feeling our enemy is going to make a decisive strike during the ceremony, and if I were them, I know where I would attack.”

“W-We’re going to be attacked!?” Bernadetta squeaks.

Caspar jumps to his feet, his chair scraping across the stone floor making Linhardt cover his ears. “Hell yeah! I’m up for round two with those Western Church jerks!”

“I don’t know if we’ll be fighting at all,” Edelgard says. “I just feel it would be best if we instead stake out the Holy Mausoleum for intruders. It’s the one time a year it is open for outsiders, so while I don’t have any evidence that anyone will disrupt the ceremony or where they would be…”

She trails off, and in the silence, Byleth notices how straight her shoulders are and the strange, protective aura that seems to be radiating from Hubert. “She seems quite nervous,” Sothis says. “I understand she is asking us to break orders, but I do not think any of your students hold more loyalty to the man always yelling at them than her.”

“If our foes were to come, it would be there,” Ferdinand says, rubbing his chin in thought. “Very well, I can see your logic, Edelgard.”

“I can, too,” Dorothea says. “Besides, we all know Edie. You wouldn’t just suggest something like this unless you were sure.”

Dorothea’s assurances only seem to surprise Edelgard more. “I have agreement,” Petra says. “When hunting, it is important to be thinking as your prey would. I can see Edelgard has been doing that.”

“The Holy Mausoleum,” Linhardt wrinkles his nose. “I’d prefer the Holy Tomb, but there may be something interesting in there as well…”

“And those Western Church guys!” Caspar adds.

“Oh, them, too. Probably.”

“Bernadetta,” Ferdinand says, turning to her as she tries to crouch lower behind their shared desk. “What are your thoughts?”

She shifts uncomfortably but glances up to Edelgard. “Well, if everything’s going, and Lady Edelgard is sure… then I guess I could go, too, a-as long as there’s no fighting!”

Edelgard seems near overwhelmed, and Hubert answers the question for her. “Our hope is that we are mistaken and there shall be none. However, if there is, I doubt it will be a problem for you based on our past battles, Bernadetta.”

The direct address from Hubert sends Bernadetta under her desk for cover. 

“I,” Edelgard finally says. “I have to admit I was not expecting such support.”

“Ah, Edie,” Dorothea says with a wink. “Have a little more faith in us than that.”

“I suppose I will have to in the future.” She turns to Byleth. “Of course, the final word is yours, my teacher. You are the one who will be in trouble for defying orders if I am wrong.”

Byleth doesn’t fully understand the situation or what Edelgard is thinking. But she does understand the pleading look in Edelgard’s eyes. “Where’s the Holy Mausoleum again?” she asks.

-

Edelgard agreed to send the Death Knight to assist her uncle’s forces in the Western Church, but that wasn’t enough for him. He needed her personal eye to ensure the remains were secured. 

Hubert had offered an alternative plan. They take the opportunity to eliminate some of her uncle’s more unsavory minions, unlock Seiros’s remains, but then the Death Knight woefully overpowers them and takes their prize back to those who slither in the dark. “We make a strike against our ally of convenience, obtain the power we need, and, if caught, have proof for the church that we tried to defend the mausoleum.”

She admittedly was expecting she and Hubert would have to do it alone. But the battle is so much easier with nine rather than two. Byleth still seems frantic, rushing around to different parts of the strange battlefield almost seemingly at random. Their enemies are a mix of Western Church members and her uncle’s agents, and neither group seems to pull any punches when it comes to raising their blades against her. But Byleth is there, somehow always just at the nick of time before darting off again.

By the time they reach the back of the room and the dark mage pouring over Seiros’s coffin, Edelgard feels exhausted but like she could smile. The Black Eagles are finishing off the rest of their opponents and Byleth picks up a strange sword off the ground that the dark mage drops. Edelgard jogs over and notices the coffin behind them is empty. There’s only the sword in Byleth’s hands.

She asks, “What is that, my teach—”

-

Edelgard doesn’t finish her sentence, and Byleth looks up to find her frozen in place. The last sounds of battle behind them have also stilled. 

“Time has stopped again,” Sothis says. “I’ve given up predicting how it will behave when this happens. I suppose we will have to wait it out as usual.”

Byleth nods. It had become her accustomed routine to repeat her words and actions as best she remembered until the stillness passed. This time, however, she heard footsteps echoing off the tiled floor.

She turns on her heel. 

The fighting is frozen, but the Prophet of the Western Church strides through the arcs of arrows frozen in the air and in between fights ready to clash again at a moment’s notice. Byleth readies the sword she found. 

“They—they are not affected,” Sothis breathes out in awe. “Quick!”

There’s a pulse radiating from Sothis, and time moves back. Byleth takes a second to reassess what she was doing before reaching for the sword again. As soon as her fingers brush the blade, the sounds of battle behind her stop again. She whips around, the sword readied, and sees the prophet walking towards her again, faster this time. 

“Do not try again,” they say. “You will tire before I do.”

The room is brightly lit, and from where Byleth is standing, she gets the best look at her mysterious assailant since their first encounter. Their clothes are different—lighter. They seem to have completely abandoned the heavy robe in favor of a light assassin’s cloak with its hood drawn up over their head so only the white of their mask is visible.

“Don’t listen to them!” Sothis says, her panic growing. “They are clearly stronger than us. Our only hope is to—”

“Sothis,” they say. “That is enough. Let her make her own decision.”

Sothis’s mouth drops open. “You can hear me?”

They only stop when they reach the base of the platform a few yards away, and Byleth tightens her grip on the sword. “Yes,” they say. “And see you.”

“How?” Sothis gasps. “You possess the same power as I, do you not? You are the one who has been stopping time and confounding us! Are you haunted as well? Are there others who are like me?”

They shake their head. “I will not answer. Hand over the sword. It is rightfully mine.”

They take another step closer, holding out their hand. Byleth takes a step back. “It belongs to you?”

“Yes. I lost it and I have come to retrieve it.”

Byleth glances over the oddly shaped sword that she would think would be carved out of bones if not for its color and odd weight in her hands. “You lost it in the Holy Mausoleum?”

They don’t answer. 

“Enough about the sword,” Sothis says. “Who are you? How do we have the same power? If you can see me, can others?”

She flies closer to them. The figure turns to her, their masked face tracking Sothis’s movements as she hovers around them. Byleth looks between the two of them and the sword in her hands gets an idea. She thinks to Sothis, _distract them_.

“You say you have been sent by the goddess,” Sothis says. “Is that the truth? Has this goddess sent you to reclaim the sword? Does the sword belong to the goddess? But if you claim it is yours, does that mean you are—”

“Sothis, I said that is enough,” they reply, voice finally raising out of its distorted monotone in frustration. 

“And what of that other sword you wielded before—the Sword of Seiros? Where did you retrieve that one from? Or can you not use it anymore and that is why you are after this strange one? But also if you are so strong, why do you ask us to relinquish the sword to you instead of simply taking it by force?”

“Sothis—”

Byleth isn’t sure how she knew, but she moves the sword on instinct and its blade extends in an arc, curving through Sothis’s form. The figure gasps, jumping backwards once they catch sight of the movement, but their leap only brings them just to the edge of the sword’s reach.

The end of its blade cracks against their white mask. 

Though barely any of the sword touched them, Byleth imagines the impact was still rather strong based on the way they lurch backwards, falling to their knees, clutching at their face.

The sword retracts back into its compact form with a flick of her wrist. Sothis calls out, “Look the mask—!”

Byleth’s eyes follow to where she is pointing and sees that the white mask lays on the ground, the side that her sword connected with having reduced it to pieces. 

The figure has their head bowed, but without their face covered, Byleth can see faded white hair with just the barest touches of green falling out of their hood. They drop their hand that had been clutching the side of their head, and Byleth can see its streaked with blood from her attack. 

When they speak, their voice is no longer distorted with magic. And it’s a woman’s voice. It’s her voice. “If anyone else had done that,” she says. “I would turn back time to erase this incident, but we are immune to Sothis’s power.”

She stands. Above one of her strange green eyes is a wound dripping blood down the side of her face. But besides the cut and the coloring of her hair and eyes, Byleth stares into an exact copy of her face.

“If I had known you were not affected by my power,” the other Byleth says. “I would have found some way to break the seal and sneak inside to steal the Sword of the Creator long before this.” She again holds out her hand, and Byleth flinches, taking another step back. “I am you, and I am telling you it is for the best that you give that to me before anyone sees you use it.”

Byleth is speechless, leaving Sothis to ask, “Why?”

“Because it will give them the proof they need to try to destroy you.”

Byleth finds her voice this time. “Who?”

It’s then Byleth questions if the face is her as the other Byleth’s eyes burn with an anger Byleth knows she is incapable of feeling. “Rhea.”

Jeralt’s words and warnings come back to her. Something Rhea did came back to haunt her. The more Byleth looks, the more she can see Rhea in her clone’s alien green eyes. Sothis cuts off her chain of thought before it can go any further. “Do not take her just at her word,” she whispers. “We have no idea what manner of trick this is. She very well could be lying to us, and—”

“She needs to make her own choice.”

Her voice echoes, and this time Sothis is the one flinching, nearly hiding behind Byleth after the scolding. Byleth looks between Sothis, the sword in her hands, and the other her standing with outstretched, waiting hands. Then back again until something else catches her attention.

Edelgard is still frozen in place behind her. Edelgard brought them here because she wanted to protect whatever was inside this place. Byleth holds the sword closer. 

The other Byleth drops her hand, and her gaze follows Byleth’s. “I see,” she says. “Your mission here is not for the church.” She reaches up and brushes away some of the blood sticking to her face and pulls her hood lower. “Do as you will.”

A pulse emanates from her body, and Byleth feels time retreat further back this time. She gains her bearings and she’s in the middle of combat again. 

“My teacher?” Edelgard says, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Byleth’s head is swimming and beside her Sothis looks sick. She stares back into Edelgard’s face, her eyes rapidly studying her in concern. 

Byleth decides to be brave. “Yes. Let’s continue the mission.”

The third time she picks up the Sword of the Creator there is no pause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've just resigned myself to long chapters now, haha. And one mystery partially answered? Next time will be answers... or more questions!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	6. The Hierophant

_She never had any talent at riding horses. He had some skill, but would scowl whenever she drew attention to it. He had been forced to learn years ago, and she had forced him further into learning how to ride with an unconscious form leaning against his chest or back._

_When she awoke, she handled stealing a second horse herself. She wasn’t sure if she loathed or appreciated the ride—the cold air slicing against her numbed skill, her bones rattling with each bump on the trails they picked over the land. _

_They only rode once the sunset. He was concerned—paranoid—about what might befall them if they were spotted in the light of day. _

_“You know I could kill any scout,” she said to him, “any army that dares to stop us.”_

_He gave her a withered look. “I do not fear our enemies anymore. You taught me that that was foolish.”_

_“Then what do you fear now?”_

_They rode in silence, the night her only answer until he spoke, “If you drop a glass, it will shatter into a million pieces. You can recollect those pieces—no matter how small or shattered—and put them together again if you have the proper tools, yes?”_

_“Yes,” she said. “That is the point of all this.”_

_“I am aware,” he said. “But the glass is not the same anymore. It carries the scars of its recreation even if it functions just as well as it once did. Does this make sense to you?”_

_“You think too much,” she said and spurred her horse to ride ahead into the darkness._

-

Rhea’s eyes glowed with fondness when she placed the Sword of the Creator back in Byleth’s hands. 

The Death Knight had disappeared, leaving the surviving Western Church members behind to receive divine punishment from the church. When the men were gathered and led away to their imprisonment and subsequent execution, Rhea had said, “Your intuition has allowed us invaluable progress in stomping out the heretics daring to strike against the goddess. However, we know the root of the problem still exists. May the goddess’s blessing continue to guide you in removing this blight from Fodlan.”

Seteth, for his part, seemed troubled when Byleth claimed she just had a feeling that the Holy Mausoleum was going to be attacked. That distress was barely comparable to the complete state of loss he was put in when Rhea announced that Byleth should continue using the Creator Sword. It had been taken from her briefly, examined, and then placed in the worn sword holster at her side.

“Lady Rhea,” he had said. “The Sword of the Creator is—”

“I am aware, Seteth,” she replied. “Have peace. The goddess has chosen her champion.” She titled her head, her eyes swimming with love. “We must listen. We must trust our salvation has finally come.”

Seteth crossed his arms, but he knew he was beat.

Byleth was given no space to question or protest before being hurriedly escorted to Hanneman’s office where he was practically buzzing around in excitement. His radiating enthusiasm also stilled Byleth from asking any of the questions Sothis was pouring into her ear. Instead, she simply held her hand out over the strange contraption on the floor while Hanneman flipped through pages in a seemingly ancient tome.

He waved his hand, mumbled a few words Byleth vaguely recognized as magic in nature, then crouched beside the device to scratch new markings onto it. The image it projected shifted from a few odd lines to something else that made him gasp in awe.

It took Byleth a second, but she realized this new image was familiar to her, too. She had seen it before painted in blood in a desolate canyon. “The Crest of Flames?” she asked. “Is that right?”

“Yes, yes,” Hanneman said. “And not only that, but it is a major Crest as well. That must be why you can activate the Sword of the Creator’s true power. However, it’s missing Crest stone is still troubling…”

He muttered more things Byleth didn’t quite understand while Sothis bemoaned that she lacked the physical capabilities to take notes. “Pay attention,” she snapped. “This is important! If we can understand what’s important about the sword we discovered, then we have a chance at uncovering why that other you was trying to claim it.”

“—any questions?”

Byleth blinked. While listening to Sothis berate her lack of listening skills, she had neglected to take in any of what he was saying. Sothis sighed. “Could…” she paused, trying to think of a decent question. “Could someone without the Crest wield the sword?”

“Potentially,” Hanneman said. “An individual with a different Crest could, but certainly not to its full power. Someone without a Crest, however…”

He frowned. 

“Someone without a Crest?” Byleth repeated, unaware of her own prompting. 

He glanced around the room, hurried past her to close his door and slip its lock in place. “I have been told not to speak of such things due to the possibility of creating a panic, but my research has led me to believe deeply negative effects could befall a non-Crest barer if they tried to wield a Hero’s Relic.”

“Like what?”

“That I do not know,” Hanneman replied with a shake of his head. “And I suppose it goes without saying that testing such a thing would be unethical. All I know is that the correct blood is needed, and when it’s not present, the relic does not react well.”

“This is all very interesting,” Sothis said, hovering closer. “If that other person really was you, then that means you can access the full effects of the Sword of Seiros, right? Ask about that.”

“I can’t use the full power of Hero Relics I don’t have the Crest for.”

He shook his head. “That is correct, but you are unlikely to suffer an unfortunate reaction. Some Hero Relics are more… particular than others as well. For example, Catherine insists that Thunderbrand will mix poorly with anyone not baring a Crest of Charon. Though,” he scowled, crossing his arms. “That may just have been her way of refusing to allow me to study the weapon.”

“Is it possible to get another Crest?” Byleth asked, recalling what Jeralt had told her before.

Hanneman smiled. “Not currently, but that’s what my research is dedicated to—bestowing Crests upon anyone who asks. I haven’t considered giving Crests to those who already have one, but you’ve sparked my curiosity.” He rubbed his hands together. “After all, if I manage to give myself a Crest of Charon, then Catherine will have no more excuses for withholding Thunderbrand.”

Byleth had left his office, Sothis murmuring beside her, “What a kooky man. It also seems he’s in the dark about what your father had told you about receiving a Crest. It’s also curious that the church would advise against someone warning of dangerous consequences to using holy weapons.” She shook her head. “But that is enough speculation here. Quickly, return to your room so we may have a proper discussion.”

And at Byleth’s return, Sothis wastes no time swimming through the air towards Byleth’s desk. “Take notes. We have much to discuss if we are to have any hope of untangling the mysteries before us.”

Byleth follows her orders, pulling out the notebook she had started scribbling ever since arriving at Garreg Mach. It’s mostly full of her lesson plans and observations about her students, and while flipping to a blank page, her attention is caught on various previous notes. Her lips tug into a frown.

“Is something the matter?” Sothis asks. “Did you come to a realization?”

“I don’t have a lesson plan for tomorrow.”

Sothis pinches the bridge of her nose. “I think that is the least of our concerns right now.”

“I should try to have something prepared.”

“And we should also attempt to uncover why someone with your face and the ability to manipulate time is roaming the earth.”

Byleth complies, finally turning to a blank page. She glances back up at Sothis who sighs. “Alright fine. If you’re going to be that pitiful about it, I suppose we can think of something to teach your students first.”

Byleth feels a sliver of relief before it rolls back off of her as soon as it came. Sothis sits on the edge of her desk as she begins to write. “Know that I am only putting up with this detour due to how rarely you ever express a desire for anything.”

“Do I not?”

“No,” Sothis says. “It’s peculiar, actually. Though I live amongst your thoughts, sometimes they are opaque even to me. I scarcely know what you want or how you feel about any of the recent goings on, no matter how fantastical. If you were to ask me, I would say you are as agitated about our unknown assailant as you were about the curdled milk in the dining hall this morning.”

“That wasn’t very pleasant,” Byleth says as she continues to write.

“And that reaction is precisely what I mean.” She shakes her head. “I can read your mind, but still I suppose my only option is to ask you outright. What do you want?”

Byleth pauses. The thought occurred to her maybe once or twice before. She glances to Sothis and assumes that fresh milk in the morning would be the wrong answer.

Sothis narrows her eyes. “It is.”

“Then I don’t know,” Byleth answers honestly. “Maybe to be a good teacher.”

“Okay, but what about before coming to place and embarking on that errand? What did you want then?”

As a mercenary, Byleth thought even less about herself. Her desires were a checklist rather than ambition. To complete her mission, to survive the fight, to pick up a new sword from the blacksmith in the next town they passed through. She looks to Sothis, reading her thoughts with an increasingly pitying expression. 

“You have no desires,” Sothis says. “I did not know that was possible for a human.”

Byleth shrugs. There’s sorrow in Sothis’s voice—real sympathy and regret for Byleth’s condition—but she doesn’t understand why. And so she keeps writing until she’s satisfied enough with her lecture to ponder being attacked by someone wearing her face.

-

Edelgard feels stupid wearing the Flame Emperor costume she had put so much effort into creating. She had gotten to wear it once, maybe twice, before the imposter appeared to claim the disguise for their own purposes. Still, she needs something to obscure her identity when she meets with her uncle.

His glare is sharp and threatens to pierce right through her mask in its intensity. “You failed to retrieve Seiros’s remains.”

“Seiros’s remains were already missing,” she replies. “All that was in the tomb was the Sword of the Creator.”

“Which you similarly failed to obtain.”

“It is not in my hands,” she says. “But it is within my reach. We can still make use of its power. It had no Crest stone, yet the professor—a woman called Byleth Eisner—was able to wield it to its full power.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That is most strange. See that you keep an eye on it at least. Furthermore, continue to search for the Crest stone. A weapon like that could be placed in more… accommodating hands.”

“I don’t think there will be need for that,” Edelgard says. “Like I said, we can make use of the sword in its current state.”

Her uncle pauses, his eyes trailing across her mask as if he could read her expression for tells through the covering. “If you mean you could make use of the sword without its Crest stone or convince this new wielder to fight for, then I am not sure which is more absurd. I hesitate to place my faith in either.”

“Then place trust in me. I have brought us this far, have I not?”

He smirks. “And yet we are still deep in the shadows, barely beginning to crawl on our journey. Do not overestimate your accomplishments or your power. We both are in need of each other for survival. Do not forget that.”

Her scowl runs deep but she keeps her voice flat of emotion when she responds. “I simply asked you to trust that I will facilitate the situation.”

“And I trust you will seek my aid when assistance is required. Now, what of my other request?”

“I would grant it if not for other matters,” she says. “The Death Knight is currently deep in investigating the Western Church’s new leader. I need him nearby to issue commands myself.”

Her uncle frowns. “Know I have little patience for this game of messenger you are forcing me on. I will deliver my orders to Solon, and he will command the Death Knight when the time comes. That is final.”

Edelgard’s hands curl into fists, but she buries the rising anger just a bit deeper. “Understood.”

Their meeting ends, and she waits until he vanishes with his own warp spell before wandering back down a seemingly random forest trail to Hubert hiding out of sight. She tugs the heavy helmet from her head, her hair clinging to her face. “Our situation hasn’t changed,” she says, handing the helmet over to him. “Only that Solon will send Jeritza on a mission at some point without consulting us, meaning we can only rely on his presence so much until their own goal is met.”

Hubert nods, wordlessly moving behind her to assist in removing the heavy cloak. “Their goal of obtaining blood from a major Crest barer?”

“Yes,” Edelgard says. “Though he has still said no more on what he or Solon intend to do with said blood.”

“They don’t trust us.”

“Given how mutual the feeling is,” Edelgard says. “I can only fault them so much on that front. At the very least, I doubt they would jeopardize our plans so early in their infancy, and they have much to lose if things go awry as well.”

“Still,” Hubert says. The cloak comes unlatched and he folds it in his arms while Edelgard works on hauling off the rest of her armor. “It must disturb you many times more than it does me that they intend to play with blood magic.”

She stiffens and focuses intently at a latch on her heavy gloves. “It does,” she replies simply.

Hubert knows her well enough to sense when she no longer wishes to speak, and he holds off on conversation until the last pieces of her disguise are removed and tucked away into a travel bag. “I know you may not approve,” he says finally. “But in addition to my lessons in faith magic and study of dark magic, I have considered investigating Crests as well.”

Edelgard stares at him inquisitively. She rarely feels angry towards Hubert—he never aims to anger her, and an expression of her dissatisfaction would immediately set him on a course of agenda to appease her. It feels unnatural, but the distinct bubbles of discomfited irritation begin to rise in her chest. “Have you now.”

“Not for any of the despicable practices Thales and his minions seek to carry out, I assure,” he says. “Rather, I’m interested in the opposite. The ability to… remove Crests, if the barer so wishes.”

Hubert keeps his gaze focused on his task of hauling the bag, busying himself with work in an act of deference even in the midst of confessing to the lines he has overstepped. Edelgard glances away. “I understand, but there is no need for that. We have other things of greater importance to focus on.”

“Yes, Lady Edelgard,” he says with a nod. “However, with all due respect, I must argue that I feel this is important as well.”

“Hubert,” she sighs. “You cannot take on every task like this without my approval. I know it is for my sake, but you will overburden yourself. I can make a sacrifice here and there, I promise you.”

“Again,” Hubert says, still focused on the road ahead. “I assure you that there are some sacrifices that are too important to make.”

She shakes her head. “Are we going to have to agree to disagree on this?”

“I believe so.”

“Just try not to work yourself into the ground if you can manage it,” Edelgard says. “I will become obnoxious and overbearing in your personal scheduling if you do.”

He smiles at her. “You could never be obnoxious, Lady Edelgard.”

She smirks. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Hubert offers to teleport them back to the monastery. Edelgard insists the walk and the fresh air would be good for them. With their recent conversation, Edelgard hopes he’ll chalk it up to her teasing and not to her skin still crawling after their talk about Crests and harvesting blood. 

She recalls a talk with Byleth she had many weeks ago now, and stares up through the canopy of trees. It’s early morning and the ground and sky are still thick with rising fog. There’s no moon or sun in sight yet, just the claustrophobic mist. It’s still a reprieve from Garreg Mach’s oppressive stone walls, and she savors the moments she can until the moon rises and she can get real fresh air.

-

Where Byleth has none, Sothis is exploding with theories and tells her to jot down the more plausible ones as she rattles them off as them come to her throughout the day. “While I believe it is wise to generally treat your father’s warning as the most accurate, I have a quite compelling idea that contradicts it. What if instead of an experiment or some such thing, it is another Rhea—that would explain the sword she wielded—and she may have a goal of replacing the current Rhea, which would explain her fury.”

Byleth nods and crouches to inspect a few of the greenhouse’s flowers. Some pretty red ones are blooming. Byleth feels indifferent towards them but thinks that someone else might appreciate their beauty. “That was a good one. Write it down,” Sothis insists.

Byleth thinks that she will right after she’s done picking out flowers.

“Picking out flowers for what? This hardly seems like the best use of our time given the trouble we are in the middle of.”

Byleth wonders if Sothis likes flowers.

Sothis throws her hands in the air. “You are impossible!” she huffs, coming to float closer to the ground near the flowers that caught Byleth’s eye. “At the very least, this makes me doubt that person we encountered truly was you. She had so much emotion in her eyes that the two of you could hardly be mistaken for the same person.”

Byleth thinks on it for a moment before deciding she agrees. Sothis watches her carefully as Byleth finally selects a flower. She feels the briefest touches of satisfaction at her find before the feeling skips off of her like a stone across a lake. “What are you feeling now?” Sothis asks.

Byleth picks another flower. Nothing really, she thinks.

“What did you feel when you saw your doppelganger?”

Again, Byleth recalls the moment and finds her emotions stir the same amount at the memory as they do in response to her slowly accumulating bouquet. She decides she was concerned, certainly, and confused.

“I… suppose those are emotions,” Sothis says, her voice gaining the same sad tenor it did earlier when they first began puzzling out the mysteries before them that morning. “I know it was my decision, but how do you feel about keeping what we saw a secret? Isolated? Nervous?”

Byleth shrugs her shoulders. She hadn’t thought enough about the choice to have a strong feeling one way or the other. 

Sothis comes to kneel beside her. “I worry for you sometimes,” she replies, her voice softer than normal. She points to a flower in full bloom. “Here, this one would be nice to add to your bunch.”

Byleth picks it, and when she sees the somber expression falling over Sothis’s features, she tries her best to smile as thanks. They both know it’s unnatural, and Sothis places a small, intangible hand upon her shoulder. 

The greenhouse’s usual caretaker excuses herself for lunch, and Byleth assures her she won’t need any assistance in handling her chosen flowers. She’s aware from overhearing the chatter of a student always decorated with roses that there’s an art to flower arrangement. Any and all of it is lost on her, but Byleth thinks a fistful of carnations look nice enough on its own. 

“Have you finished?” Sothis asks when she finally draws back to her feet. “I suppose this was a pleasant enough distraction, even if your purpose here still eludes me.”

“I think,” Byleth says, admiring her work. “I like flowers.”

“You think?” Sothis echoes. “But you are not sure?”

Byleth shrugs. “Not really.”

“You know so little of yourself,” Sothis says. “Admittedly, my missing knowledge frightens me at times. Do you not feel the same?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t feel scared. And I know some things about myself.”

“Like?”

“I like to fish,” Byleth says. “And I’m good with swords.”

Sothis drums her fingers on the side of her crossed arms. “I suppose those are characteristics, shallow as they may be.”

“I think I’m a good person,” she says. “At least not evil.”

That provokes a smile. “Well, that much is evident.”

“So I think that the other me probably isn’t evil either.”

The grin falls from Sothis’s face. “I’m afraid I do not follow you on that leap in logic.”

“If I’m not a bad person a second me probably isn’t a bad person either.” Byleth shrugs. “So I think it’s fine.”

Sothis sighs. “You truly leave me baffled. I worry my heart out for you one second, and the next I fret for entirely different reasons. Let your father know I extend my greatest sympathies towards him.”

“I’m not sure how I’d explain you to him.”

“It was a jest.”

“Oh.” Byleth pauses, looks to the flowers in her hands then back to Sothis floating at her side. “It was funny.”

She gets another sigh. “If we are done here, why don’t we move along?”

Byleth agrees with a nod of her head, stopping only in their march out of the greenhouse to wind a piece of misplaced string meant for holding up weak stems around her prize. It isn’t elegant or practiced, but there’s a certain charm to the amateurishness, or at least Byleth thinks there is. On her walk to the market, different students and guards occasionally call out to her or admire the flowers in her hand. Alois stops her for a rather long while to comment on them and deliver a few jokes Byleth attempts to smile at. She must have done a rather poor job as he pats her on the back with a reminder that if she’s feeling sick, Manuela always has a spare bed in the infirmary for her to lie down on.

Sothis wanders ahead, and when Byleth stops whatever tether holds them together forces her to float in lackadaisical circles. During a particularly long chat with a merchant over fish bait, Byleth spares her a glance as Sothis resorts to counting a cart’s fruit over and over again in her boredom.

“I’m glad you take some note, at the very least,” Sothis says. “I would feel like a dunce repeating it at nauseam, but I cannot even begin to describe the frustration at my lack of form. It’s such a perfectly sunny day and yet I cannot run through the fields or entertain myself by splashing in the pond or even feel the warmth of the sun on my skin.”

Byleth thinks, _I can’t feel anything._

Sothis returns to Byleth’s side, her complaints dead on her tongue. “I know, dear.”

She continues on to the blacksmith, only to find herself stuck in line behind a familiar figure. She waits dully in place for a few minutes before Sothis whispers that he might actually just be standing there. Byleth glances up to Jeritza’s masked face and sees that his gaze isn’t locked on a sword or shield, but a pleasant looking girl surrounded by children near the monastery’s gate. 

She taps him on the shoulder. Jeritza uncharacteristically startles at the contact. “What—oh.” He steps to the side, clearing her path. “Excuse me.”

Sothis prods her arm, which Byleth has come to understand is a signal to investigate. “Why are you staring at that girl?”

His gaze slides down to her, and though most of his expression is obscured by his mask, Byleth is aware it is an unpleasant one. “She is a student here returned from the village. One cannot be too careful these days.”

Byleth takes a second to examine the girl, herself. She’s definitely a student from her uniform, and her straw colored hair shines rather prettily under the high afternoon sun. “She looks fine to me.”

“Yes,” Jeritza replies. He takes one last lingering look at the girl before turning away and striding off.

Byleth doesn’t quite understand what just transpired, but her own curiosity over this student rises and she decides she could examine the goods of merchant slightly closer to the growing group of children.

“—and that’s why it never hurts to sleep with a bit of silver or two at your bedside,” she says. “Especially on nights with extra howling.”

The children shiver and giggle in equal measure. A boy calls out, “Another one! Another, Mercedes!”

“Oh dear,” she laughs. “Well, I suppose one more can’t hurt. Let’s see… oh this one might be a little too spooky.”

The children protests that it’s not as Byleth feigns interest in overripe squashes. 

“Okay, but if it’s too scary, just let me know and I’ll stop,” Mercedes says. “Have any of you ever heard of the face stealers? If you go out into the woods at night and see a person with strange white skin and shrunken black eyes, run as fast as you can! But be careful who you run for help to—you can never know who has already been replaced and had their face stolen.”

Byleth nearly drops the gourd she had been pretending to inspect. 

“Because the face stealers follow their victims until they’re all alone,” Mercedes continues. “And when the time is right, they use their magic to transform themselves into their target so they can kill and replace them without anyone else in their life noticing. But there is a way to tell if someone’s been replaced—the face stealers are known for their bad tempers, so if anyone is angrier than usual, more aggressive… it might already be too late for them.”

The children giggle amongst themselves. “Um,” a tiny girl calls out. “And isn’t there a particularly bad one, Mercy?”

“Ah, you’ve heard this story before, too?” she says. “That’s completely right. The leader of the face stealers only appears in the dead of night, and they were a mask to hide their face. No one’s sure what they’re hiding—maybe their appearance is so terrifying that even their followers would shriek in terror! Or maybe…” she gasps dramatically, startling the children closest to her. “They’ve already stolen their next victim’s face and are just waiting for the right moment… to pounce!”

Mercedes takes a sudden step forward, and the village children squeak and laugh, amused at their own jumpiness. 

Byleth feels cold. 

-

Edelgard is aware that Seteth’s seminar on flight technique and wyvern care is important, but it goes on entirely too long. When he finally shuffles his notes together and makes a hasty retreat from the room, Dorothea raises her hands over her head in a long stretch. “Alright, I think I’m all studied for the day.”

Petra looks at her quizzically. “You mean you are… done with studying?”

“Exactly—good catch, Petra,” Dorothea says. “And I think I’m in the mood to do something fun. Any other takers?”

Edelgard surveys the room as the others start to gather their things. 

Byleth has been spirited away from them for the day—too many important meetings to attend after being bestowed the Sword of the Creator. Her own meetings in the dark kept her preoccupied from the early hours of the evening, and as valuable as time to further her own plans is, a part of her has been aching for reprieve since she stumbled in her heavy cloak and armor to be berated by her uncle. 

“I think that’s a great idea,” she says, drawing all attention onto herself. “After everything, I think we all could use a break. Why don’t we have a house picnic?”

Ferdinand jumps to his feet. “What a splendid idea, Edelgard! I just received a new tea set from Lorenz and have been looking for an opportunity to make use of it.”

Dorothea rolls her eyes. “Ferdie, you’re not my favorite person, but why do you spend time with him? I never thought I would say this about you, but you actually can do better.”

“I am not sure whether to take that as a compliment or insult,” Ferdinand says. “But I assure you that Lorenz has a fine noble character.”

“Lorenz…” Petra says, furrowing her brow. “He is… something Linhardt had been saying the other day. Man… something.”

At the sound of his name, Linhardt raises his head from his shared desk with Caspar. “Are you sure? I don’t really pay much attention to,” he gestures vaguely, “uninteresting people.”

“Wait,” Caspar says before turning to clamp a hand on Linhardt’s shoulder. “Isn’t that the guy who got really mad at us yesterday when we walked into the Golden Deer’s classroom during lecture or something?”

Edelgard frowns. “Is that why you were both late yesterday?”

Linhardt crosses his arms defensively. “I had to ask Marianne a question. Garreg Mach’s poor scheduling system is hardly my fault.”

“Man…” Petra mumbles to herself, flipping through a notebook. “Man…”

“Linhardt,” Ferdinand says, hands on his hips. “It is hardly befitting of a noble to harass a fellow student, particularly when they are in the middle of their studies.”

“Why, um,” Bernadetta says. “Why were you talking to Marianne?”

“We never got to,” Caspar says. “Professor Hanneman threw us out and then that Lorenz guy got really mad at us later… actually wait. Hey, Lin, do you think he was mad about that or because of all the broken glass we left on one of the garden tables?”

“I feel I will regret asking this,” Edelgard says. “But why was there broken glass?”

Caspar huffs. “Okay, so first that totally wasn’t our fault. We just got there and—”

“Manwhore!” Petra shouts, pointing eagerly to something in her notebook.

Dorothea chokes. “W-What?”

“That is what Linhardt had been saying. I have been writing down words I am not understanding, and at breakfast, Linhardt said that Lorenz was a—”

“Linhardt!” Edelgard snaps.

His response is to passively blink back, completely undeterred by both Edelgard’s hostile glare and Caspar’s poorly contained giggling alike. “I’m fairly certain,” he says. “That that comment was about Sylvain. And its usage is correct in that context.”

“While that may be true,” Dorothea says. “Petra, that word really isn’t something you should repeat.”

“But if it has truth,” Petra says. “Why is it wrong to say?”

“An excellent question,” Linhardt says.

Caspar loses any pretence of hiding his laughter as Ferdinand begins to rant about proper noble speech and the disgrace of besmirching another noble without reason before effortlessly switching into a different lecture about how rude it is to pretend to fall asleep while someone is speaking to you. Bernadetta picks up a book to hold over her head as a shield, and Dorothea quickly flips through Petra’s notebook to scribble out any other obscenities she may have copied down over the last few days.

Edelgard sighs at the chaos, but her heart somehow feels a little lighter. The scene before her doesn’t quite match her quiet dreams of spending the day lolling about in the sun, surrounded by friends and enjoying piles of sweets. But, for the time being, it’s close enough.

She smiles before sparing a glance back at Hubert who had opted to remain silent during the whole affair. He’s staring straight back at her, his mouth a thin line. 

Edelgard turns back around in her chair, pretending she hadn’t seen him as she again insists that they all enjoy each other’s company for a little while longer over lunch. 

There’s more arguing to be had, but the plan is agreed on, they gather and amuse themselves perhaps too much and for too long until the dining hall staff finally kick them out to prepare for dinner. 

Hubert follows after her, but remains stonily silent throughout the entire afternoon even when Bernadetta accidentally bumped into his back, sending her into hysterics. He had looked down at her without saying a word, only increasing her panic, until Ferdinand stepped into level his own accusations of Hubert terrifying her on purpose. 

“Even if you cannot help part of your demeanor,” Ferdinand had said. “It is a noble’s duty to ensure they keep in mind how they are perceived by others and think of their feelings and expectations.” 

Hubert looked from Ferdinand to Bernadetta cowering behind him and back again. “I promise I do not and will not think of you,” Hubert said. “Either of you.”

Edelgard again pretended as if she hadn’t seen his displeasure until she finally parted ways with the rest of the Black Eagles in the early evening. 

Hubert follows her on her walk back to her room and once inside, Edelgard wastes no time rounding on him. “Do you have anything to report, Hubert?”

He raises an eyebrow. Edelgard has long since given up on imagining Hubert couldn’t read her moods, and she is all too aware that he is gearing up for their now routine fight as much as she is. “No. Though I thought I might remind you to begin drafting your proposal to Count Bergliez. The Battle of the Eagle and the Lion—”

“Draws nearer everyday; I am aware.”

Hubert carefully folds his hands behind his back. “I never mean to imply that you would dare slack off or seek leisure over pursing what is necessary,” he says, slowly as if weighing each word. “If I ever gave the impression that that was my intention, I humbly apologize.”

Edelgard sighs. “I know Hubert, and I didn’t assume…” She presses her hands to her face for a moment as if to wipe away her frustration before giving him a sidelong glance. “Do you really never tire of it?”

“Tire of…?”

She knows saying ‘everything’ would be obtuse and get her nowhere, and Hubert’s staring at her so quizzically she begins to feel sorry for him in place of her previous irritation. “Our goal has been the center of our world, as it should be. But… don’t you ever want for something—anything—else?”

He frowns. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean. If you are asking if I have goals outside of the fruition of our plans—”

“I’m not. I’m asking—I’m trying to say,” she gestures vaguely, as much for his limited understanding as she is trying to grasp her own frustration. “I worry for you, Hubert. Near constantly.”

Hubert stiffens. “If this is about your warning to not overwork myself, I am not sure how else to respond.”

“It’s not that,” Edelgard says. “It’s more how you… lack connections. And not connections to informants or spies—I know you have those many times over. I mean with people other than myself.”

“Ah.” He bows his head. “Be assured, Lady Edelgard, there is no need for concern over that.”

“I disagree,” she says, her lips twisting into a frown. “I know why you hesitate, but, Hubert, you have to know having a personal life for a few hours of the day won’t undo our plans.”

He pauses for a moment, as if genuinely debating contradicting her words. “Perhaps it won’t,” he finally says. “But again—there is no need. Even if I desired such things, it would ultimately be a waste.”

Edelgard straightens her shoulder. They’ve had this conversation before, and Hubert always approaches it with such care—his words referring back upon himself even as he says things that painfully resonate just as much with Edelgard. “I don’t think so. Relationships aren’t contractual bonds. You simply gain the joy of the time spent together; there is no ‘waste’ or ‘benefit.’”

“I’m afraid I can’t agree,” Hubert replies, his voice steadily growing softer. “‘Waste’ was the wrong word, but there is a price to be paid for such things. Being betrayed—” 

“And we have both survived worse fates than that,” she snaps.

The already stilted atmosphere shifts to become even heavier with complete silence as Edelgard takes a moment to compose herself. “What I meant to say,” she says finally. “Is that we have both survived by looking to the future, but there is nothing wrong with pursuing things that will only last in the present. I would never do anything like ordering you to make friends, but I greatly wish you would as your friend.”

Hubert stays quiet for a moment longer, and Edelgard is sure he isn’t going to respond at all until he says in a low voice, “and as your friend, Lady Edelgard, it pains me to see your pursue things I know will only hurt you in the end.” He bows his head once before edging towards her door. “And, if you’ll permit me to say, just because you can survive something does not mean the pain it causes doesn’t exist. I’ll take my leave now.”

He closes her door with a soft click. Edelgard stares after him, clenching and unclenching her hands into fists as she feels something stricken and raw bubbling up in her chest. She takes a few shallow breaths as the walls and ceiling start to feel too close for comfort. 

She bursts out the door of her own room marching in a direction she isn’t even sure of to find clear air.

-

It’s morbid, but Byleth likes spending time in Garreg Mach’s graveyard. She knows few of those who dwell beneath the dirt at her feet, but it’s quiet and few knights calling for her to be summoned would think to look in such a place. 

The stone bench beneath her is also sturdy, and the willowy tree provides an umbrella of shade that hides her even further from passing eyes. Sothis wanders in and out of the sun in her pacing, but even though the light reflects in dazzling rainbows off of her jewelry, she cannot be seen.

“It was a silly rumor,” she says. “Absolutely childish—it was made up to entertain children! Complete nonsense and I won’t tolerate you putting any stock in it.”

Byleth twirls the bouquet still in her hands. 

“And even if such creates did exist,” Sothis continues. “Then the person we saw is not one of them. After all, did you see her hair and eyes? That is a rather poor imitation. And even if—”

They both hear footsteps from above the small alcove, and Byleth glances straight up through the branches of her tree. On the hanging overlook, someone lets out a sigh and rests their folded arms on the stone railing. Sothis takes it upon herself to fly up a few feet further to investigate. “Just one of your students. I doubt she will bother you; she looks too lost in her own thoughts.”

Byleth frowns and squints harder through the overhanging leaves until she sees a wisp of white hair caught by the wind waving overhead. She takes the flower she had been fiddling with and slips them into her empty sword holster before taking hold of a low hanging branch.

The tree is steady under her, and Byleth is confident it will support her endeavor to climb it even as Sothis flies around in a flurry, fretting over her every movement. 

As she reaches the tree’s top, Byleth hears a soft noise of confusion and pokes her out of the canopy to meet Edelgard’s bemused expression. “Hello.”

Edelgard blinks back at her as if taking a moment to question if the sight before her is real. “Ah… Professor? I—you,” she stops to survey the situation one more time. “You are in a tree.”

“Yes,” Byleth replies. 

Edelgard appears to be at a loss for words at her dull response before she begins to laugh. Byleth takes the moment to check her hair for stray leaves.

“I-I am sorry,” Edelgard manages between her peals of laughter. “I just—you always manage to surprise me, and I feel very silly now.”

Sothis murmurs how Byleth is the ridiculous one given her current position. “You do?” Byleth asks. 

“Yes—I mean, pay me no mind,” she says. “I was caught up in my head about something, but it seems absurd to worry over it now.”

Byleth shifts a bit closer on her relatively sturdy branch. “Something was bothering you?”

Edelgard’s smile falters just a bit as she waves a hand. “Yes, but like I said you made me realize it was over nothing.”

“Oh.” Byleth says. “I’m glad I could help.”

Edelgard shakes her head. “You certainly did, though I feel it wasn’t purposeful in the slightest.”

“No, um,” Byleth says. She glances from Edelgard’s strained smile to her eyes that look just a touch mistier than usual and then back to the spark of red flowers at her side. With a few precise moments to secure her balance on the branch, Byleth plucks the bouquet from her holster and extends it to Edelgard. “Do these help, too? Giving flowers is more… purposeful right?”

Again, Edelgard seems thrown off kilter, but she smiles just as quickly as she gingerly reaches over the banister to take the flowers. “It usually is,” she says with a laugh. “But I can never be sure with you. You are a rather odd person sometimes, my teacher, but still thank you. These are beautiful. Can I ask why you were carrying them around?”

“I don’t really know,” Byleth says. “I just wanted them, but you seem like you needed them more.”

Edelgard’s eyes are downcast towards the flower. “Perhaps I did.”

They both let the silence linger for a moment as Edelgard fiddles with the bundle of carnations, and Byleth steadies herself on her perch as the wind brushes over them, pulling Edelgard’s long white hair up over her shoulders and into the air. 

“Edelgard,” Byleth says. “Were you lying earlier when you said you weren’t bothered by whatever was troubling you anymore?”

She only hesitates for a second before nodding her head. “Yes. But I don’t think I could burden you with the details.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because…” She trails off, biting at her lip. “It’s a problem that comes with being the princess of Adrestia.”

“Okay,” Byleth says. “What’s the problem?”

Edelgard smiles down at Byleth’s somehow both neutral and guileless expression. “I… I simply had a disagreement with Hubert, and I think I might have been in the wrong. Given my position, I have to be careful about the connections in my life, and he fears I have been giving out my trust too easily.”

“Oh,” Byleth says. She pauses for a moment, mulling over Edelgard’s words until she realizes they are fully lost on her. “I don’t understand. Are the other Black Eagles bad friends?”

“No, not at all at present, but in the future… it’s hard to say.” She brushes a thin strand of white hair behind her ear. “For nobles like myself, alliances and politics change all the time. Today’s ally may be tomorrow’s enemy through no wrong doing of your own. It’s difficult, but it’s the reality I have to accept.”

Byleth frowns. “I don’t think the others would betray you.”

She thinks it must have been the wrong thing to say given how Edelgard’s expression hardens. “I would like to think that as well, but I can’t. When I was a child, there was an incident in the empire—The Insurrection of the Seven. The heads of the great noble families in the empire all banded together to wrest power away from my father. Ferdinand, Bernadetta, Linhardt, Caspar, and even Hubert’s fathers all came together to oppose him.”

“I didn’t know.”

“It’s not discussed much outside of the empire,” she says. “And I know something truly cataclysmic would have to happen for even Hubert to abandon me, but it’s hard for me to put it out of my mind.”

Byleth thinks that even if she could feel, she would have trouble grasping the profound sadness behind Edelgard’s words. “You don’t want to be abandoned.”

Edelgard smiles wryly. “Does anyone? Still, it feels childish to cry over such things. Every noble knows it’s just politics.”

Byleth inches forward. “It doesn’t sound like it should be.”

“No, but it’s the way Fodlan is,” she says. “You know that boy who went missing? The politics changed for him, and he became the enemy of his former friends. If, say, Petra’s grandfather was to rebel or Ferdinand’s father attempted a coup, the same thing would happen to them.”

“I see…” Byleth says. “And you think about this all the time?”

“Yes.”

Byleth knows then she is truly out of her depth. There would be the occasional mercenary that would abandon her father’s group in the middle of a fight or make off with equipment or gold in the middle of the night. Her father would sigh and say that just came with the business but it was no real trouble in the long run and you just had to move on. Then he’d smile at her and say that the important people always stick around.

“You said that Hubert will stay with you,” Byleth says. “Is there a way you could believe anyone else would, too?”

“Ah, well, Hubert’s a bit of a special case.”

“How does someone else become special?”

Edelgard gapes at her. “I… I never considered that such a thing could happen. Trust is…” She shakes her head. “My apologies, my teacher. I hardly know what I am saying.”

“Maybe I could,” Byleth furrows her brow, “trust you with something? Would that help?”

“Help me…?”

“Believe that I’ll stay.”

“I…” Edelgard’s words stutter to a stop before she smiles down into her flowers. “Just saying that is enough, but if you truly do wish to confide in me, I would like that very much. And I suppose it is only fair after I have burdened you with so much.”

“I don’t feel burdened,” Byleth says. She pauses, looks to Sothis staring at her with a deep line of concern between her brows, and debates how to properly convey the secret her father told her would make others think she’s a monster. “I don’t really feel anything.”

“Oh,” Edelgard frowns.

“I mean, I can’t feel,” she continues. “I understand when I’m supposed to feel something, but then I don’t.”

Edelgard blinks at her. “You mean… you don’t have emotions? I’m not sure I understand.”

“Um, those flowers,” Byleth nods towards them. “Seeing pretty flowers makes people happy, right? I wanted to try that, so I picked them.”

“You can’t feel happy?”

“I can’t feel anything.”

Edelgard seems to be at a loss for words until she stammers, “H-How long have you…?”

“My entire life.”

“But… how can that be true?” she asks, tilting her head. “There are people you love in your life like your father, yes? And,” she holds out the flowers, “you perform such acts of kindness all the time. If you truly felt nothing then why would you do such things?”

Byleth stares at the flowers. She conjures the image of her father’s smiling face in her mind, the feel of Sothis’s tiny hand placed comfortingly on her shoulder, and then even Edelgard standing with her soft white hair billowing in the wind. “I…”

“You hardly know how to cry or laugh,” Sothis whispers. “But she has a point. Is there something that lies deeper beyond that?”

“I don’t know,” Byleth says, and she scarcely knows if she’s responding to Sothis, Edelgard, or a new deep, burning question boiling in her stilled heart. 

But she must look shaken, so shaken that Edelgard dares to reach out across the drop between them and place a hand over Byleth’s.

-

More tragedy befalls those from Faerghus. 

“The Heroes Relic of House Gautier has been stolen,” Byleth reads off the missive Seteth wrote up for her. “The bandits have been fortified themselves in a nearby fortress. Our mission is to dispatch the thieves and retrieve the…” she narrows her eyes and brings the paper closer to her face. “The Lance of Ruin.”

“Not the most pleasant of names,” Sothis comments. “These Heroes Relics are quite curious.”

Bernadetta raises a shaking hand. “Um, Professor? This mission sounds, um, really, really dangerous, and wouldn’t it make a lot more sense for, you know, the Blue Lions to go after the scary sounding weapon?”

“Actually,” Dorothea says. “Manuela’s on a bit of a personal crusade. The Blue Lions are basically only taking missions that have to do with the Western Church’s operations.”

Byleth nods. “That is correct. Also a knight,” she glances to the paper again, “Gilbert, has been assigned to come with us. There will be no danger.”

“You have also been given permission to bring the Sword of the Creator into battle,” Hubert says. “We will have the power of a Heroes Relic of our own.”

“Oh,” Bernadetta sighs. “That makes me feel a little better…”

Out of the corner of her eye, Byleth notices Edelgard turning to Hubert with the tiniest smile on her face. 

The journey there continues just as peaceably. Unlike Catherine, the knight to join them this time is a man of few words. Gilbert keeps his distance and travels with his own small squadron of knights rather than Byleth and her students. 

However, Byleth feels a strange pit forming in her stomach as they near the tall tower. She did not spend the previous weeks idle in her teaching, and every one of her students is quicker, sharper, and better in combat than they were only a month ago. But the black tower looming above them has an aura around it that compels her to keep a hand on the strange new sword at her side.

She vaguely misses when her holster was full of flowers as they tread up the first twisting flight of stairs. 

The bandits they meet are more skilled and numerous than those of the past, and Byleth calls upon Sothis almost immediately when she hears footsteps charging behind their small group. 

The tower is a curving snake of architecture, and the clamor of boots against stone floor echoes from every direction the farther in they push. Bernadetta exchanges fire over a high wall with the archers on the other side, doing her best to jump out of the way and calling on Linhardt when she doesn’t. Caspar’s stationed behind the pair, cutting down a swordsman who tried to ambush them from behind. 

Byleth bites her lip as she whips her head to where Petra is barely keeping back more bandits who appeared out of the shadows from surging past her and striking down Dorothea raining lighting on them. She debates calling Caspar up to join Petra, when Edelgard retreats back into her vision from around a corner, shouting that they’re getting pushed from both sides. 

Ferdinand dodges back with her, ducking as Hubert fires off a burst of dark magic over his head. Gilbert hisses, raising his shield as the spell makes contact with an opponent right in front of him. “Be careful with your fire!” 

Byleth makes out a slight sneer on Hubert’s face. As Ferdinand rounds the corner alongside him he says with a small laugh, “Not everyone is so familiar with your silent combat, Hubert.”

Hubert grunts in response before letting another spell go inches past Ferdinand to meet with an enemy giving chase. “Watch behind us instead of jabbering at me.”

Ferdinand’s about to huff at his brusqueness when Byleth nods to them. “Yes, watch Hubert and Edelgard’s backs, Ferdinand. We’re pulling back.”

“Well, if it’s an order from the professor, I can oblige.”

“Even in the midst of combat, you do not cease.”

Edelgard shouts, “Get down!” and a volley of arrows fly over where their heads would have been.

At Byleth’s direction, they gather to wait out the onslaught of reinforcements in an area surrounded by pillars. Beside her, Sothis asks, “The situation could be better. Should we make another attempt?”

Before she can answer, Gilbert places a hand on her shoulder. “Professor Byleth, we can only weather this barrage for so long.”

“Can you send for the other knights?”

He shakes his head. “We are too far in. They would not reach us in time.”

She furrows her brow, scanning over the scene before her as Ferdinand and Edelgard form a front line with the others slinging spells and occasionally darting forward and back again between them. She can tell they’re tense and some of the casters’ magic is starting to drain, but they continue the fight without a hint of hesitation. 

“I think we can pull through,” she says. “I believe in my students.”

Gilbert frowns and the doubt in his voice is palpable even as he defers with, “if you insist.”

Byleth doesn’t waste any more time on conversation and joins the front line, fighting shoulder to shoulder with Edelgard. 

Linhardt looks about at his limit with healing when they finally get a reprieve, but with Dorothea and Hubert’s budding skills, they manage to come out of the onslaught with bruises and broken swords rather than dead bodies as Gilbert predicted. 

Ferdinand takes a moment to bemoan the fate of his lance snapped in two against a heavily armored bandit’s chest plate. “And Hubert struck him down seconds later, as well,” he whines. “Such a waste…”

Byleth hands him the steel sword she had been using. “Have more faith in him next time.”

“Who’s to say I will bother with coming to his rescue in the future?” Hubert challenges.

Byleth looks between the two of them and to Edelgard standing off to the side, rolling her eyes as she checks her own weapon for lasting damage. “You will.”

“Quite a bold assumption, Professor,” Hubert says.

“Yes,” Ferdinand says with a frown. “I would hope you have good reason for counting on such a thing given Hubert’s… disposition.”

Byleth nods. “I do.”

Hubert scowls, but any argument is cut off by a sudden squeak from Bernadetta as she points a trembling finger down the twisting hallway. “Th-There! I saw a shadow—more are coming!”

Gilbert heaves his heavy shield up. “Then we must prepare for—”

Time freezes and slips back just a few seconds this time. Hubert is scowling again and able to start bickering with Ferdinand in earnest, but Bernadetta keeps tending to her bow and her frightful glances around don’t draw her attention away from her task.

Sothis still glances back in the direction Bernadetta had pointed them towards. “We are being followed then. Perhaps she seeks this Heroes Relic as well.”

Byleth’s lips flatten into a tight line. Gilbert again picks up his shield. “Professor, I suggest we do not idle for long.”

Byleth keeps watching down the hall for another flicker of a shadow or black cloak, but the other her must be taking more care this time. “Then we should move.”

She still keeps an eye behind them and her ears sharp for the sound of footsteps echoing off the stone behind them. Petra does a better job listening for enemies ahead. “Their numbers have been much thinned,” she says. “And I sense we are reaching the innermost part of the tower.”

“Good,” Edelgard says. “No way but forward. My teacher, shall we continue on?”

Byleth takes one last look for the shadow stalking them, and Edelgard follows her gaze with a quizzical expression. She raises an eyebrow in question as Byleth simply responds with a nod of her head.

The bandits closest to Miklan are stronger than the ones before, and Byleth realizes they must be his personal guard. Gilbert thrusts a few back with great heave of his shield, and she spies the head of a great glowing weapon waving this way and that like a conductor’s baton in the clearing up ahead.

He must have spied her as well at the exact same moment as he charges towards them, lance held high. Byleth draws the Sword of the Creator, letting its strange elongated blade clatter like a whip against the stone walls as she lashes out at the remaining bandits between them.

Miklan sprints, likely shouting something about how he’ll kill her that Byleth can barely hear from the way his voice clashes with the other echoing sounds of battle. Gilbert steps with surprising speed in front of her, and Byleth gets a good look at the strange, almost alien looking weapon he wields when it strikes the shield. There’s a strange burning smell in the air after their clash, and the temperature in enclosed space feels as if it jumped a few degrees. Gilbert is pushed back by the attack, and a quick glance to him lets Byleth take in the full burn mark running down the length of his shield.

Miklan snarls at her. The lance in his hand glows bright red like a blacksmith’s tools freshly taken from the furnace that Byleth has to wonder how it does not burn him.

She stands ready with the Sword of the Creator firmly in her grip as she and Miklan start to square off with one another. Then his eyes dart somewhere to the side of her, and instead of charging forward, he lunges in an arc around her towards her students.

Byleth pulls them back again and this time she darts to meet him just as fast, letting their blades collide with a flurry of sparks. Miklan jumps back again, raising his lance again and Byleth prepares for a strike. But instead of a stab, he thrusts the shaft of weapon hard into her side, sending her careening out of step so he can again rush past her. 

Byleth takes a second to steady herself on her feet, see Dorothea scramble to provide some defense for herself as the Lance of Ruin nears her heart, then raise her hand again. 

This time she feels dizzy. Sothis hovers close, looking exhausted herself. “I think… I think that is it for me at present. I—I require some rest.” She lets out a yawn, but Byleth has very little attention she can pay to that. 

She meets Miklan the first time, predicts his cheap strike this time, and gets a strike in with the Sword of the Creator, sending him reeling back. 

His third strike is going to be a mystery, and Sothis again chants that she is so tired. Miklan moves to slash at her, and Byleth jumps back in response though his blow comes up even shorter then where she would have been anyway. Instead he uses the length of the lance to help pivot himself around her. Byleth lunges to her side, but the distance she put between them causes her to fall short.

For the third time, he slips past her, and Byleth calls on Sothis to receive no answer other than a drained, “I can’t…”

During training mishaps and every previous battle, Byleth had never heard Hubert scream. 

The Lance of Ruin pierces through his lower abdomen, and Byleth can barely hear the guttural shout of pain over the rush in her own ears. She calls on Sothis again who only whimpers, “Byleth…”

Edelgard isn’t frozen. She practically leaps over Hubert’s prone form, her axe slicing through the air until it catches Miklan’s lance’s shaft. 

That contact doesn’t seem to be enough for her as she keeps striking, driving him back in a frenzy of wild blows. Miklan gets his composure back well enough in their fight to make a strike of his own that Edelgard doesn’t even bother to avoid. She bares the brunt of it with a grunt, and only lets up in her assault long enough to jump back to let Bernadetta get a shot in without risk of hitting the wrong target.

Byleth keeps internally calling to Sothis, even as she registers Dorothea kneeling beside Hubert and placing her hands over where the greatest amount of blood pours out of his side. 

“Professor!” Ferdinand shouts.

She numbly turns at the sound of his voice just in time to understand he is jumping in front of her to parry one of the remaining bandit’s attempts to cleave her head off. 

Gilbert also appears at her side, his axe held aloft, and Byleth fixates on the soft pitter patter of the blood on it dripping down to the ground. “Professor!” he shouts. “Get a hold of yourself.”

Sothis has stopped responding at all to her cries for help. Ferdinand finishes his fight and steps beside her, wiping at a deep cut along his forehead, dyeing his crisp white glove red. “Your orders, Professor?”

Edelgard isn’t fighting Miklan alone anymore. Petra has joined in, darting back and forth to get in surprise swipes with her sword when he’s engaged with Edelgard, and Bernadetta stands back as she attempts to aim her arcing arrows at the moving target.

Edelgard is still a blur—her white hair whipping around this way and that with each strike as she swings her axe faster than Byleth has ever seen before.

Byleth shakes herself to awareness. No second chance, she thinks and lets the Sword of Creator’s blade flare out again. She sends it flying out, wrapping around the Lance of Ruin, nearly tearing it out of Miklan’s grip. 

He snarls in response, pulling back in response, and this time Byleth can make out his curses. “Damned thing—will not be fucking taken from me this time!” He yanks back tightening his grip around the handle as the lance begins to pulsate. “Will not—”

The atmosphere changes. The rising heat Byleth had felt spikes, and Miklan begins to scream as he spies the black sludge writhing out of the lance’s handle first. The slime bursts up his arm, consuming it as he continues to cry out in agony. 

The thieves under his command stop fighting as well as his shrieks become less and less human and his shadow grows in size.

Ferdinand is frozen in horror beside her, and Byleth grabs his arm. “Get back! Everyone!”

Her other students don’t need to be told twice as they retreat alongside Miklan’s men. From her spot on the ground, Dorothea attempts to heave one of Hubert’s arms over her shoulders but he hisses in response. The other students begin to group up around them, and as the bandits charge past them in droves, Byleth belatedly realizes they can’t join them in their flight.

Edelgard kneels at his side, saying nothing, but her eyes frantically dart over every inch of him from the barely healed wound at his side to his expression twisted with pain as he tries to sit up.

Caspar and Petra drop to fighting stances at the front of the group, and Ferdinand carefully pries himself from Byleth’s grip to join them. Byleth hears his footsteps stop abruptly as he murmurs, “In the name of the goddess, what is…”

Caspar is less elegant, but his soft, “holy shit…” gets the feeling across to Byleth better.

There is a towering monster in front of them, lashing its tail back and forth as black ichor drips from its gargantuan maw. 

“It’s a beast,” Sothis whispers, her voice still strained and weak. “A demonic beast.”

Byleth would ask how she knows such a thing, but the creature leaps, its razor claws striking out towards them.

Time stops, the beast frozen in the air. Byleth is about to thank Sothis when she sees a flash of darkness moving forward. Time resumes, and the beast’s claws make contact with the Sword of Seiros only a foot in front of them.

Gilbert gasps. “Is that—”

The other Byleth’s voice is again distorted from behind her mask. “Move to a better position!” 

Byleth tears her gaze away to Hubert, who Edelgard wastes little time bodily picking up despite his much larger form. 

The beast rears back, and the other Byleth runs in an arc, the Sword of Seiros glowing bright in her grip. 

The two clash again, and despite the strength of her blow, the beast does not fall. If anything, its strikes seem only to quicken and grow in might.

“Is that the fucking prophet!?” Caspar screams as he darts to take cover behind a pillar. “And what is that monster!?”

“We can be asking later!” Petra shouts back. “We must lend aid!” 

Linhardt looks at her as if she grew a second head. “Have you lost your—”

She sprints out from their hiding spot, light on her feet and able to land a blow against one of the beast’s legs.

“Petra!” Dorothea screams. “What are you—”

The beast rears back on its hind legs, and the other Byleth grabs Petra to pull her out of the way of a sudden burst of fire from its mouth.

Byleth hears Caspar mutter, “Fuck it,” under his breath before he lets out a battle cry and charges forward to join them.

Ferdinand is busy hovering over Edelgard and Hubert, and Byleth sees the former to exchange a few short nods before he, too, runs back towards the monster. 

“This is insanity,” Linhardt murmurs, summoning healing magic in his hands. “Absolute insanity.”

His spell arcs across the room, raining down on Petra and the other Byleth alike to seal their burns. Even Bernadetta dares to fire off a few arrows at the great beast, and finally Dorothea summons the last of her lightning magic to pierce through its armored hide. 

Byleth is physically torn away from the sight as Gilbert yanks her back by the shoulder. “Professor! Get control of your students! They are aiding the heathen from the Western Church!”

That is hardly Byleth’s first concern, but a second glance lets her know he is completely right as her students fight alongside the other her without even a touch of worry at drawing close. And the other her protects them. The beast breathes out another burst of fire that would have been the end of Caspar before time freezes, and the other Byleth resets, this time diving on top of him to keep him from becoming engulfed in flames.

Gilbert again shouts, “Professor!” as Byleth rushes past him, Sword of the Creator held tight in her grasp to join the fight.

She hits the monster in the places where the other her does, and while at first the scales coating every inch of the beast seem impenetrable, slowly they weaken, and Byleth feels her blade begin to finally cut into the flesh beneath. 

And then Petra leaps with a shout, burying her sword to its hilt into the monster’s skull. Black ooze leaks out of the wound, coating Petra and running down the monster’s face as it thrashes and thrashes until falling to its side with a resounding thump. She gasps as she pulls away, wiping some of the strange substance off of her as best she can, and Dorothea rushes to her side to assist and check her over for further injury.

But Byleth can’t take her eyes off the body of the monster as it slowly shrinks. Then faster, then the scales and slime fade until only Miklan’s corpse still clutching the Lance of Ruin remains.

Caspar again voices her thoughts. “What the holy hell was that thing!?”

She hears Gilbert huff behind her, but Byleth is still transfixed by Miklan’s body, coated in a strange substance and charred to become near unrecognizable. “That was a demonic beast,” he says. “They are creatures that roam Fodlan, causing havoc wherever they appear.”

“But,” Ferdinand says, face pale. “That—that man became one. His weapon turned him into one. How could such a thing be possible?”

Byleth’s eyes wander to the Crest stone in the weapon’s hilt. It’s still giving off a pulsating, magical energy, and Hanneman’s warning comes back to her. She sighs and finally looks up from Miklan’s remains to survey her students. “Is everyone alright?” she asks.

Edelgard is still with Hubert, tending to him safely out of range of the fighting. Linhardt has also taken to inspecting Petra and the strange black sludge coating her arms, even as she assures both him and Dorothea that it is not harming her. Ferdinand seems to be in shock while Caspar takes a wide breadth of Miklan’s body to circle back to the others. And the other her—

Byleth glances around hurriedly. “Where is—”

She hears a familiar sound—a sword coating clean through flesh—and a gasp. Byleth spins on her heel, and Gilbert is behind her, eyes wide and the tip of a glowing blue blade poking out of the front of his chest. 

He lets out one more choking sound as his legs give out from under him and the sword withdraws. He collapses, a great pool of blood flowing out of his body, and the other her standing where he once was, coated in both black and red blood. 

Byleth hears shouting from her students behind her, and Edelgard up ahead, watching the scene from a distance. She sees Edelgard stagger to her feet, axe in her hands again as she rushes towards the other Byleth.

Then time freezes for everyone but the two of them staring face to face. “Why did you…” Byleth murmurs, the words feeling both heavy and unreal on her tongue. “You…”

The other her holsters her drenched sword. “He would go onto kill if I did not.”

She turns, strolling past Edelgard and her raised axe at a leisurely pace. Sothis is still even more of a ghost of herself than usual, and helpless in the stilled window of time, Byleth collapses to her knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And things are starting to move! In completely unrelated thoughts, this fic has also made me deeply reconsider Byleth and Sothis's relationship. As quite a few comments have pointed out, Sothis tends to be the keeper of Byleth's brain cells, and I've realized I see them as a bit of a parent-child relationship, though Sothis is definitely the parent, haha. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


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